By Tina Scott
One of my fondest Christmas memories takes me back to chilly nights with my father driving my brother and me around town to look at the lights. Our town had a yearly contest, and some of the houses were adorned with so many lights they took my breath away.

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Each December, we celebrate Christmas. American culture has turned this holy day into a circus of commercialism and fluff. For too many, this day is void of deeper meaning.

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by Dave Ellis
On June 26, 1948, British planes commenced the Berlin Airlift (Operation Vittles, seriously) to provide much needed supplies to the West Berliners being held hostage behind the Iron Curtain. The Allies flew over two hundred thousand flights in one year to overcome the blockade by the Soviets. This is the same strategy I use to get candy canes into my house each year. Yes, I am the Allies and my wife is the Soviets. Charming, eh?

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By Krista Ralston Oakes
Ten days before Christmas, the doctor somberly lowered the boom. I was diagnosed with grade IV cancer, with a typical prognosis measured in months.

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by Annette Lyon
Some of my happiest Christmas memories from childhood center around the kitchen, namely around making the traditional Finnish sweetbread pulla. The smell of cardamom spice always brings back images and feelings of making pulla with my father—rolling out the dough into long strips and then braiding them together; brushing on egg wash to create a beautiful golden brown top when the bread baked; and finally cutting fresh pulla and savoring every bite.

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