The following is roughly based on one Christmas Eve when Randy Owen returned home in Ft.Payne, AL.
THE BEST CHRISTMAS EVER
It was a cold December 24th evening when I finally pulled up to the old family homestead. The tour had been long, the concerts thrilling, but the ache of missing home had settled deep in my bones. As I stepped out of the tour bus, the smell of pine and the faint aroma of mama’s cooking wafted through the crisp Alabama air.
The house was decked out in its usual Christmas decorations. Twinkling lights framed the windows, and a giant wreath with a red bow hung proudly on the front door. I could see the warm glow of the fireplace through the window, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls.
I paused for a moment, taking in the scene before me. The house seemed to exude warmth and love, a stark contrast to the bustling venues and cold hotel rooms I had been in for the past months. Every light, every decoration, every scent carried a memory. I could almost hear the echo of laughter from Christmases past, the joy and togetherness that only home could bring.
I opened the door quietly, hoping to surprise everyone. The sound of laughter and Christmas carols greeted me, and there they were – my family, gathered around the tree, eyes sparkling with joy. The kids were busy wrapping presents, their faces lit with excitement, and there, in the midst of it all, was my lovely wife Kelly, her smile more radiant than any holiday decoration.
“Randy!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening with surprise and delight. In an instant, she was in my arms, and the world seemed to right itself. The kids soon joined in, piling on with hugs, and for a moment, the weariness of the road vanished.
As I held them close, I felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude. The weight of countless miles and sleepless nights faded away, replaced by the simple joy of being with those I loved most. It was in their laughter, their touch, their presence, that I found my true home.
As we settled into the evening, I couldn’t help but marvel at the simple beauty of this moment. There were no grand gifts or extravagant feasts, just the warmth of being together. We sang carols, with me picking up the guitar to lead the chorus of “Silent Night.” The harmonies filled the room, each note wrapping around us like a cozy blanket.
Although I was dead-tired from having been up for two days, delivering an endless stream of live music, interviews, and holiday cheer. When I realized we were all together again as a family, all my exhaustion vanished.
Dinner was a classic southern spread – fried chicken, collard greens, cornbread, and sweet potato pie. We shared stories, laughed until our sides hurt, and relished the comfort of home-cooked goodness.
Later, as the fire crackled softly, we all gathered in the living room. The kids, now sleepy from the excitement, nestled close, and I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. It was in this quiet moment that I realized the true magic of Christmas. It wasn’t about the presents or the decorations; it was about the love that binds us together, the memories we create, and the time spent with those who mean the most.
I looked around at my family, their faces glowing in the soft light of the fire. Each of them had grown in the time I had been away, and I marveled at the strength and resilience they showed in my absence. I vowed to cherish every moment, to be present and grateful for the love that surrounded me.
That night, as I drifted off to sleep with my family around me, I knew this was the best Christmas ever. The miles and months on the road had been worth it, for they led me back to this – the heart of home, the essence of Christmas, and the unbreakable bond of family.
Before I closed my eyes, I offered one last prayer, thanking God for the journey that brought me back to the most precious gift of all – the love of family.
