Every year, from grade one through eight, I attended a parochial school. So, every year I participated in our Christmas Eve service.

For weeks before the event, we students would put on our coats, gloves and hats, and walk in a single file to our church a block away.

We would practice marching down the aisle, filing into our seats properly, and lining up at the altar when it was our turn to sing. And we would follow the direction of our teachers, singing the Christmas songs and reciting the verses, until each note and word was just right.

And then on Christmas Eve, the magic would begin. I can only remember it as "magic" because at a young age, I couldn't describe the spiritual feeling any other way. It just seemed like magic. All of us marched into the church, white robes flowing, holding a battery-lighted candle. The only lights in the church came from two tall pine trees drenched in sparkling bulbs and ornaments, a soft glow illuminating the crucifix at the altar, and our candles.

Each grade sang and performed, and the pastor told the story of the birth of Christ and what it meant for all of us. The church was warm and familiar. I felt at home there. I attended services every Sunday, holding my mother's gloved hand when I was small, and eventually going on my own. But the most wonderful memory of that old church, long ago replaced with a more modern structure, was Christmas.

After we had all performed and told the Christmas story in song and verse, the congregation would end the service singing "Joy to the World, the Lord has come..." When the lights came up, the pastor handed each child a brown paper bag. In the bag was our Christmas treat, an orange, a candy cane, and a handful of nuts for us to shell later. And we all loved that paper bag of treats.

Even though we knew Santa was coming later with even more wonderful things, that simple brown paper bag, given to us by the pastor who was so dear, meant a lot.

I still attend church on Christmas Eve, and listen to children tell the Christmas story in song and verse. And when the congregation sings "Joy to the World," tears still fill my eyes, just as they did every year I sang that song in my old church. I know these children won't receive a simple brown paper bag of treats, but I hope they feel the same magic I felt so many years ago — the magic that is Christmas.

Sandra Holderle is a retired secretary. She lives Affton.