Borrow the eyes of a child to see Christmas | Eric Frydenlund

We put up our outdoor Christmas lights early this year. We live at the end of a dead-end road, so the chances of many people seeing this modest light show are remote.

Our three-string display falls about 49,900 lights short of the 50,000 bulbs on the Rockefeller Center tree in New York and well short of the 25,000 lights on Clark Griswold’s house in the movie “Christmas Vacation.”

But as advertised, they do glow in the dark. The trimmings set the scene for Christmas.

The displays of Christmas lights purchased at Walmart pale in comparison to the show offered by nature. After a recent snowstorm in Wisconsin, I took my usual walk in the woods just east of the Mississippi River. I often walk at dusk when the light is muted and the colors are subdued.

On this evening, the snow-draped branches offered a sharp contrast with the charcoal-colored tree trunks, like a black-and-white sketch that draws my eyes to the essence of the scene. I’ve never had such a warm feeling on a cold night.

And so, the scene is set for something extraordinary to happen. In the gathering of family and friends, we find the essence of Christmas, a setting as remarkable as anything we find in the natural world. The images we capture at Christmas -- on our cameras and in our hearts -- remain with us for the rest of our lives.

We all like to reminisce about our childhood Christmas memories. I was always worried Santa wouldn't have enough snow to land his sleigh.

In our household, we left lefse -- a Norwegian flatbread -- rather than cookies out for Santa’s treat. Since Santa hails from the north country, he must certainly have a hint of Scandinavian heritage in his blood.

Yet we don’t have to go back decades to create memories on this Christmas. We need only to borrow the eyes of a child to see this Christmas in a new light.

I see my grandchildren huddled around the lefse griddle, helping me roll out occasionally misshapen lefse dough ready to be transferred to the griddle with a lefse stick, a thin oaken shaft supple enough for this delicate task. The lefse stick was made by their great-grandfather, who crafted this holiday artifact that spans four generations.

I hear them playing games with their cousins, filling the house with the sounds of laughter and mischief every bit as festive as holiday treats. In the preparation for and pageantry of Christmas, I see through their eyes the excitement I experienced those many years ago created anew in this moment.

We at long last gather around the Christmas tree. Our grandkids’ patience has been rewarded, and their expectant eyes scan the brightly wrapped gifts, searching for their names, while grandpa -- the official distributor of presents -- fumbles with the labels on the gifts.

The exchange of gifts on Christmas Eve involves more than swapping presents purchased at big-box stores and Black Friday sales. It embodies the expression of gratitude and generosity. We have gratitude for the people in our lives who allow us to be ourselves. Our generosity of spirit is so often missing the rest of the year, yet here in abundance on this day.

The spirit of Christmas, set apart from the rest of the year by glowing lights and snow-draped trees, ultimately expresses itself in the gathering of family around the Christmas tree. The laughter and love emanating from that circle form the ingredients for warm feelings on a cold night.