Grandma’s House

By Trevor Littleton

There is no greater way to typify the memories of Christmas in the 1980’s than these two majestic words: Grandma’s house. Every Christmas morning found our family driving south to a yellow brick ranch in Stone Creek, Ohio, filled with family, presents, and perhaps the greatest fried chicken, mashed potatoes, noodles, and okra ever prepared.

Christmas memories as a child began with my parents in the hills and hollows of Tuscarawas County. In the early years it was the unbridled joy of a Batman figure to the soundtrack of Chipmunks’ Christmas while wrapping paper littered the carpet all before going to Grandma’s for lunch with the extended family. As a teenager, Christmas joy came from clothes, wrestling headgear, and hunting supplies. Yet, every year we went to see Grandma who would make the orneriest “Your Mama” jokes to my cousins and I about her two daughters.

Each Christmas was a benchmark, a time to look backward and compare the glory of yesteryear to present day. As an only child myself, we celebrated every year my cousins came to Grandma’s with new babies in tow. My Grandpa would play with them, Grandma would make her jokes, and time passed by happily, always celebrating the family tradition of grandbabies and legacy with the two lovebirds. Grandpa had gone home to Jesus before my own children came along, but we still went to Grandma’s house. It was slow, and subtle, but every year her hair was a little whiter, she moved a little slower, and we knew we were blessed to still have her. For thirty-seven years, Grandma was always there.

Until she wasn’t.

The first Christmas after Grandma went home to Jesus, my wife and I adopted three children from Ukraine. Two were teenagers and one was a cute, but ornery five-year-old girl. We were tasked to provide middle names for the children’s birth certificates before traveling back to America. The teenagers selected their names, but Sofia was still in need. Grandma’s personality cast a large shadow, but this pint-sized spitfire was ready for the role. We flew back to Ohio and traveled to my parents’ house. On a shelf by the front door, this little girl stared at four generations of family pictures. The teenagers helped translate English to Russian and explained to her that the photo with the orneriest smile was, “Grandma Katie.” She knew that name. It was her name. Adoption had not only given this sweet little girl a home and a family—it gave Sofia Kate a new name.

So many wonderful treasures abound at Christmas as we celebrate the incarnation of Jesus. Among the memories, traditions, and cherished moments is the opportunity to celebrate Christ and his adopting us into his loving family and giving us a new name. Celebrate the joy of Christmas. Thank God for your loved ones. But walk in confidence that you are an adopted son or daughter in Jesus, and to be the son or daughter of the King comes with all rights and privileges freely given by grace.

Merry Christmas to all!

Trevor Littleton is the Executive Director of Kainos Leadership Network and also Lead Pastor at Lake City Christian Church and lives in Strongsville, Ohio, with his wife Shanna, nine children, and rag doll cat Ariel.