There is an unmistakable sound when you turn on to a gravel road. The gravel crunch. It told me we were getting closer to grandma and grandpa’s house.
By the oversized grey mailbox was the turn to our grandparent’s house. The Quonset on the left confirmed the turn and just inside sat the pale yellow, 1950 Chevy pickup usually covered in pigeon droppings.
The gravel driveway to the right ended in a small circle drive, light pole in the middle of the loop. The white clapboard, two-story farmhouse, circled in strawbales in winter was where my grandparents lived. Cedar trees in the front yard, hollow concrete steps and the letter B in the screen door identified there were some Blumer’s in there.
Inside the front door was a freezer, followed by the galley kitchen, full of people and food. The pantry was my first visit, with the ice cream pail of homemade donuts that grandma would have waiting for me.
Down the gravel road was the country church. Carols and candles and candy and then back for cousins, games, and lefse. To get to the house, to get to the church, the unmistakable sound of gravel.
Life changes. Family’s change. Christmas changes. Worship changes. Traditions change. Christmas changes. Priorities change. Gifts change. Christmas changes.
But there are reminders. For me, it’s the gravel crunch.
There was also a “gravel crunch” in the Old Testament. It also announced we were getting closer to what was coming.
“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” (Isaiah 9:6)
No matter how your holiday is configured this year – Merry Crunchmas