Grandmother gave bells at Christmas.
She gave them to her grandchildren, starting with the child’s first Christmas. Then there was a new bell every year for every grandchild.
I don’t know exactly how many I received, but I do know how many I ended up with. I have in my possession nine small brass bells that came from Grandmother Reid. Some are decorated with colored paint, some are engraved. Each has a different tone.
By my recollection, Grandmother had 12 grandchildren. If they all received as many bells as I have, that’s more than 100 bells she bought and distributed.
Grandma Reid was a person of deep and sincere faith. She was a Methodist and proud of it. She could go on at length about the good and bad aspects of every Methodist Church in Greater Kansas City, or plans for the new Methodist seminary. Only after she died did I learn that her family had donated some of the land for DePauw University, a Methodist school in Greencastle, Indiana. She also was responsible for giving me my first book about John Wesley, the founder of Methodism. It was not a gift that a first grader might crave, but I knew that it was important and kept it throughout childhood.
The bells from Grandma weren’t expensive. No, these were cheap brass bells produced in India. They weren’t even as nice as the pair of bronzed baby booties that every grandchild received at about age 2. One of my cousins caused a minor (but well documented) scandal when, as a teenager, he sold his bronzed booties and his bells for a baseball bat and glove.
Bells were doled out at large family gatherings in Kansas City. The bells might have been given directly to parents, who were responsible for keeping track of them and preventing the cacophony of small children ringing bells with reckless abandon. I don’t have specific memories but I am sure I never showed much appreciation. To tell the truth, I could not have cared less.
I should have realized that Grandmother had given me a lasting reminder of her faith, but that took years.
As I grew older, the bells got dragged out of the basement every year as part of the Christmas décor. At our house, there were three sets -- one for each of my two brothers and one for me.
The bells stayed with me when I left my mother’s home and indeed they continue to be displayed every year at Christmas. I’m thankful that my wife insists we keep up this tradition.
Who knew that when I moved to Fort Collins and attended my first Christmas Eve service at this church, that I would be surrounded by people ringing bells. It took several years for me to connect the bells that are rung on Christmas Eve with the bells that Grandma Reid had given me. But historians would say they hold precisely the same meaning: Christmas bells proclaim the birth of Jesus and therefore they are a sacred Christian symbol relating to the Nativity.
Looking back, I’m glad that it was my cousin, Little Robert, who sold his bells and not me. I don’t remember that anybody was bold enough to accuse him of not only disposing of artifacts from his childhood but also auctioning off his Christian heritage. But I’ll bet that that idea crossed Grandma’s mind. She knew what those bells symbolized, even if no one in the family ever articulated it. She knew that Christmas bells heralded the end of darkness and the inbreaking of light. She knew that the ringing of bells at Christmas was not about her sweet grandchildren but about the birth of Jesus.
I am pleased that Grandmother did not blister my ears with an explanation of the deep meaning of the bells she gave us. I am glad she let me discover it for myself. Even if it took most of a lifetime.
I wonder what other seeds she might have planted that I have not yet discovered?
David W. Reid
Director, Adult Faith Formation
Director, Northern Colorado Faith Library