When I feel the pressures of creating more or the feelings that others around me have their Christmas season plans more organized, kids’ program outfits planned, gifts purchased and wrapped, homes perfectly decorated and holiday baking complete, I pause. I used to push forward and try to buy, decorate, bake and host more. And when those feelings of “Christmas is overwhelming” still find their way of gripping me, I let myself think back to Christmas Eve 1993, one of my favorite Christmas memories.

Dec. 24, 1993, wasn’t any different than every Christmas Eve I was accustomed to leading up to 4:30 p.m. church at Sundahl Lutheran in Aneta, N.D. I was a ninth grader and remember my dad commenting about my short leather jacket not being warm enough. I wore a short skirt and tights, certainly, I was not dressed for winter but it was Christmas and we had a mile and a half drive to church and back. We went to church in the family minivan and other family members were in additional vehicles.

With waning daylight, I always love the candlelight service on Christmas Eve. We walked in with daylight and would leave after church in darkness to return back to my grandparents’ farm home for our traditional Christmas Eve feast.

Grandma hurried out of the church with Grandpa to get back to the kitchen and another carload of family followed.

The rest of us stood in the church and visited with the many friends home for Christmas. When we eventually stepped outside, an all-out blustery, snowing, windy blizzard had blown in. We didn’t have a cellphone with a weather app alerting us. It surprised us.

A caravan of family and extended families crept toward the gravel road turn we needed to make. My dad couldn’t find the turn. My mom kept watching for the lines on the highway to keep us on the road and waiting for the turn. It wasn’t there.

Had we gone past our turn? Were we going to get stuck on the highway? Somehow, the caravan got organized to all turn around and go back to the one farmstead between town and our gravel road turn.

The family that lived there wasn’t home and like most of us in those times, kept their house unlocked. We knew these friends and neighbors wouldn’t mind and I remember my mom saying they probably had stayed in town at their grandma’s home.

My mom used their landline to call the farm and my grandparents, uncle, aunt and two middle siblings had arrived safely to the farm. Outside the wind howled, snow blew and I could see some of the yard light only. The living room was small and when I count now, there must have been at least 15 of us gathered, singing Christmas carols as we waited out the storm.

The landline phone rang. It was Betty, the mom, and wife of the home and she expected there might be people stranded at her home. She told my mom she had a turkey breast cooked in the basement refrigerator and told my mom where potatoes were.

My mom, being the thrifty farm cook she is, got to work to stretch that turkey breast into a meal to feed the whole crew — cream of turkey over baked potatoes. There was nothing fancy, no extra side dishes, Christmas cookies or pies, but everyone was fed.

We sang more Christmas carols and visited. There were no presents to exchange and none of the kids complained. I remember the faces of the people in the room, eyes sparkling, jolly laughter and stories from Christmases past.

The neighbor’s living room hosted our family and extended family until the middle of the night, when my grandpa came into the yard in a tractor to lead us home. I was sleeping, but remember how excited I was to hear the rumble of the tractor engine. Christmas morning arrived and Santa had still delivered gifts. But I don’t remember any of them. What I love the most about Christmas of 1993 was the unexpected joy I still remember while being safely stranded in a blizzard at age 14.

This Christmas season, don’t feel the need or pressure to live up to any expectations. Often the unexpected moments create the best memories.