Our Most Hilarious Christmas Stories!

The Cousin Eddie Challenge

By Kathy Milans

One Saturday evening before the third Sunday of Advent, we sat around the kitchen table with good friends sharing a meal. Somehow, the topic came up about my favorite Christmas movie, “Christmas Vacation.” This gave my husband the perfect opportunity to show off one of his recent purchases. He excused himself from the table and disappeared.

Moments later he strutted before us wearing a genuine “Cousin Eddie” hat complete with the flaps sticking up like donkey ears! Of course, laughter burst out as we marveled how handsome he looked. Then, one of the guests, laid out a challenge. (Now, if you know my husband, you’d never challenge him because he will definitely take the bait!)

“I bet you wouldn’t wear that to church tomorrow morning,” she quipped. Dread began to pour over me as I pictured my husband strolling into church like a model strolling down the runway.

Sunday morning came. As we pulled into the church parking lot, out popped the ridiculous hat. On it went as he proudly exited the car. My snide remark was, “You aren’t really going to wear that thing into the building?” But, of course the answer was, “yes.”

I walked far behind my husband in the parking lot. But, of course, our friends were running later than us so it seemed like hours that I sat next to “Eddie” as he waited patiently for his challenger to see him. I had thoughts of hiding under the pew.

In came our friends and you can only imagine the giggles that continued for quite some time. In reverence to the Advent season, the hat came off when the service began. But, that didn’t stop my husband from wearing it again as we left the church.


Christmas in the Woods 1981

By Marilyn Elliott

Our son JV was born on November 2, 1981, making our family complete. We had just moved to our first church in rural Alberta, Canada, and everything was an adventure. The week before Christmas we decided to go with another young family and cut down a tree in the woods.

The two older kids (4 and 6 years) were all bundled up and excited and we swaddled baby Jordan and put him on a hard plastic sled that we pulled along behind us. There was a good foot of snow to plow through, but the day was bright and clear, and our breath puffed into the air like a smoke as we trod along.

The trek into the woods was full of laughing and joking and pointing to trees. We discovered that lodgepole pines (the kind the First Nations people used to hold up the center of their teepees) were different than the pines at home. They were tall as apartment buildings with little triangles of green at the top. We had to guess what the triangle might look like close up, and finally choose one to chop down. They were much scruffier up close than they looked up high, let me tell you.

We trudged along making great debate, gazing toward the sky, caught up in our pursuit of the perfect tree. In the middle of all the fun I glanced back to the sled where little Jordan was lying and there was nothing there! No baby! No blanket! Just an empty sled!

Horrified all of us panicked and urgently retraced our steps through the woods. Quite a way back we spotted a little round bundle in the snow. I got there first to snatch up our baby who was lying face down in the snow.

To all our relief he was warm and content, cozily sleeping.  What a relief. Later, returning home with our first lodgepole pine Christmas tree we were filled with gratitude that what had had the potential of being a disaster had instead turned into one of our family’s many hilarious stories.


The Night the Lights Went Out on the Christmas Tree

By Patricia Taylor

The twelve days of Christmas were not even spent.

It had been a typical holiday season for my family as it was at the time. We had dysfunctional family members on both sides, more bills than we had money, and we had been at each other’s throats for days. In the season of love, joy, peace, and hope, we had nothing left but anger, frustration, and exhaustion. We had tried having a real tree that year, and we ended up with little more than pine needles all over the floor and the bitter taste of disappointment.

Dinner had not turned out the way we had planned on that night, just a few days after the chaos and wrapping paper that was Christmas. My son’s behavior had been in rare form, and my husband and I had just raged at one another in a heated argument. Just as I was feeling at an all-time seasonal low, the Christmas tree lights went out with the zap and hiss of electric failure.

I think that was the moment everyone finally snapped.

We looked at one another with a meaningful stare that belied all the aggravation which had been brewing in our family for weeks. Without saying a word, we must have communicated that we were all in agreement, and we took our all our frustration on that cursed tree. We carefully stripped it bare of every meaningful ornament first, but then the carnage began.

I grabbed the biggest, most murderous-looking scissors I could find, and we took turns viciously cutting the strands of light off the tree. When the task was complete and the light string covered the floor in pieces, we dragged the tree across the living room, out the front door, across the porch, down the stairs, and into the very center of the front yard for every passerby to see.

Then we poured charcoal lighter fluid on it and set it ablaze!

As we stood together and watched that tree go up in flames, there was something cathartic about that moment. I don’t think it taught us any lesson. I think it was just a relief to destroy that thing.


The Christmas Burglars

By Benjamin Snyder

One Christmas Eve, not many years ago, we became Christmas burglars. On our way out the door from my parents’ house, my mom and dad asked me to lock the door, so I did. We drove nearly an hour away to spend Christmas Eve at my brother’s house. After the festivities, we finally arrived back to my parents’ house and it was long past the children’s bedtimes. Our youngest ones were two and four. Anxious to get the bedtime routine going we waited for my parents to open the house. Turns out, no one had a key.

Being the resourceful type, I immediately googled locksmiths. We held out little hope that anyone would actually answer the phone on Christmas Eve and so plans B, C, and D were underway as I searched for phone numbers. My mom tried any and every key she could find, but nothing worked. We checked every back and side door of the house. Incredulous that neither of my parents had a key, we tried to stay calm as the kids grew ever more restless.

Finally, the fateful decision was made. My dad decided we’d bust the door handle off the garage door as a last resort. At first, my dad dried driving the guts of the door handle through, but that produced no results. Then, he decided to get the mini-sledge. Both my parents were dressed in black leather coats, it was dark out, and I suddenly became humored at the fact that they looked just like burglars trying to break into a house! So, out popped the iPhone for memories.


The Humming Christmas Tree

By Mary Morton

It was the densest tree I had ever seen. My father, trying to make my first Christmas as a single mother a happy one, bought me and my kids a tree so dense with needles, it looked like a fuzzy, green cone. The trunk was at least five inches in diameter and the tree about eight feet tall, making it an exceptionally heavy tree.

My friend, Ken, was in the other room with the kids, getting the lights and ornaments out of storage. Since I’ve always been a “git’r done” kind of person, I wanted the tree settled into its stand and ready to be adorned when they brought in the decorations. The tree was too heavy to lift, so I devised a plan.

I would set the stand as close to the tree as possible and tilt the tree backward against me, using the front of my body to support it as leverage. Then as I stepped close to the stand I’d let the tree slide into place in the little metal holder.

Good idea, right? Only in theory.

As the weight of the tree shifted onto me, I realized I’d miscalculated its weight. it was heavier than it looked (much heavier!), and we both fell backward to the ground with a big WHOOSH! I heard footsteps as Ken and the kids came running in to see the tree lying on the ground, completely covering me.

“Where’s Mom?” asked my daughter, Mandi. I tried to answer but the needles of the tree were so sharp and dense I couldn’t move, not even my mouth, without being pierced.

“Maybe she went outside to get something,” suggested Ken.

“MM  MMMM!” I hummed at them.

I waited, not daring to move for the pain, as they stared at the humming tree.

“MM MMMM!”

“It’s Mom! I think she’s under the tree,” said Mandi.

Ken rushed over and carefully pulled the tree upright. One look at me lying on the floor, covered with pine needles and everyone was laughing. Except me. I sat up and brushed myself off, glaring at them.

“Sorry. We couldn’t help it,” said Ken. He plucked some needles from my hair. “You better go look in the mirror. You look like a Christmas tree impersonator with the measles.”

It took a few days for the tiny pin-pricks to disappear, and it really was the prettiest tree I’ve ever had. That Christmas came to be known as the year of the Humming Christmas Tree.

 

Real people doing real soul care for real life.

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