When this time of year rolls around I am reminded of Christmas’ Past. And at my age there have been several. Christmas and childhood memories are surely intertwined in all our memories. And in my case, when I think of Christmas memories I often think about the birth of Christ. How the miracles of God have indeed g diven all of us a path to salvation. Freedom from the fear of death. We call it everlasting life. Or to put it in a simple way, like William Shakespeare did, “To be or not to be.” We all have a desire “to be” and continue to be forever.

And again, here we are, another Christmas time. Last Saturday I had to pleasure of being with a nice sized crowd of Allenites in Downtown Allen. Over in the little downtown park we usually call the “Historical Center” Santa Claus (who had arrived amidst much fanfare on Allen’s No. 1 firetruck) handed out free gifts and chatted with our children about what they might wish for Christmas this year. After Santa left, an annual drawing by the Allen Chamber of Commerce handled by our own Eric Pierce give away several prizes of $100 each. Thanks to The Allen Chamber of Commerce.

Another important person I think of this special time of year is my mother. My mom was a very well-known lady in Allen. She was mostly known as “Mama Doe” a name given to her by her first grandson Brad but the name seemed to fit her pretty well. Although some (well, two?) of you have requested I repeat our favorite story about Mom on a long-ago Christmas morning in 1943 when our family got up early to go down to Grandma Ruby Bullard’s house and that unfortunate thing happened. You know, the time Mom pulled the choke out on our 1935 Ford V-8. You may remember she needed a place to hang her purse causing our car to run out of gas right by the German POW camp near Atoka.

Well, we lived through that cold Christmas night on HW-69 just North of Atoka although I was fairly certain we would perish (freeze to death) on that lonely Christmas night, we didn’t. Our family doctor — a good man out making calls on the sick in his chained-up ‘41 Ford who pulled us the several miles into Coalgate. That all-night gas station there on the main street along with our good doctor’s ration card, got us a tank of gas and we got home okay. I’ll never forget the sound of the sleet storm on our tin roof that night as I slept in my warm bed on SHW3 in a place called Centrahoma. A happy Christmas after all.

But best of all, when I think of Mom and Christmas’ past, were the many nights she came to our bedside and read the Bible to my brother Gerald and me. That was how I come to know about Jesus. That was how I came to know that Christmas was more than toys and a big dinner. That was how we stayed close together and that’s how we all knew about the true meaning of Christmas. Thanks, Mom!

I hope all of you moms out there remember how important you are to your kids and how that the saving grace of our Jesus gives us the most important gift we can ever receive. Everlasting life. “To be” forever. Be sure and go to church on Sunday.

Wayne Bullard, DPh cwaynebullard@gamil.com