I haven’t spent a part of these last two Sundays of the advent season within a church. Rather, I have begun them, as I begin most days, with a run with Buddy. The snows of December, however, have made me amend our routes, so on both Sundays, Buddy and I were jogging past snow-covered hills deemed perfect for sledding.

There are few things more vivid in memories of my childhood than that giddy rush of fear and exhilaration elicited by speeding down a snow-packed slope on a sled. So, it was a joy of remembrance that flooded my heart as the happy whoops of whole families rose above the snow in the early morning quiet of the Iowa winter. Visions of my father’s robust strides through drifts of snow as my brothers and I trudged with him to a preferred sledding site over fifty years ago came readily to mind. We would stay out sledding until dark or until our feet were just too cold to continue.

These memories were further stirred by the small gems of pastel drawings that Sharon Burns Knutson delivered to me just a couple of days ago. Musing that she loved them for the brilliance of the blue of the skies, Sharon pulled out one small drawing of snow-laden trees and countryside after another, and covetously, I looked to see which I would claim for my own before I would hang them in the gallery.

They’re just little pieces. You might miss them if you’re focused on just finishing your Christmas shopping list. So remember, part of this season, surely, must be about seeing the small items that evoke the magical power of memory in each of us.

“And I heard him exclaim ‘ere he drove out of sight, ‘Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!’ “