It is Christmas Eve in Germany and the anticipation of the advent season approaches a fever pitch. There is a bustle of activity as last minute preparations are made--shopping had to be finished by noon, last-minute packages are still being wrapped and hidden from children, mothers are scurrying about everywhere, and children are banished from the living room while the tree is put up and decorated behind closed doors, to be revealed at the sound of the bell.
In my husband's childhood home in Ravensburg, there is a mix of the German and English all year long, but Christmas Eve is all German; after supper my late father-in-law would take a daughter or two to evening mass at the Liebfrauenkirche, knowing there would be the opening of gifts--the Bescherung--upon their return.
Winters in Ravensburg are usually white, and the snow shovel and a tub of sand for the steep front steps are a quasi permanent fixture during the winter. As soon as the churchgoers head out, Mama digs into a box and pulls out a handful of candles. Right before their return, she tucks lit candles into the snow banks lining the steps and walkway leading to the front door. The warm glow welcomes them home on one of the darkest nights of the year.
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| Candles light their way home |
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