The first Christmas of the war came five months after the war began. As soldiers sat in their wet and muddy trenches, they anticipated that Christmas day would come and go as so many days before had been spent. However, as darkness fell over the battlefield on Christmas Eve, British soldiers began to hear singing. The German soldiers were singing Christmas carols. The British soldiers heard familiar melodies emanating across the battle-scarred earth where so many had died, and some corpses still lay where they fell. They listened. Some even added their voice to the strange choir. Singing would lead to invitations, and miraculously the soldiers eventually climbed out of their muddy holes and met one another in "No Man's Land," to celebrate Christmas together. There were handshakes, sharing of cigarettes and cigars, and most importantly, a momentary pause in the exchange of gunfire. Diaries and letters to loved ones back home told of makeshift Christmas trees being erected and decorated, soccer games, and other joint activities in stark contrast to the context and location. The momentary relief from the prosecution of war also allowed both sides to collect their dead.

Most families have events that remain in the collective memory that when seasoned with time produce laughter. In my family these events are often boiled down to a single phrase that simultaneously calls forward the memory while producing laughter. One such phrase is “there are no wires across the Pacific.”

In the early nineties, I had the opportunity to travel with my church to Hawaii for a two-week mission trip. This was to be the furthest I had traveled from home, thus my parents were naturally interested in what provisions I chose to pack. My mother requested I pack sufficient sunscreen, but for the most part, neither parent challenged my decisions as to what to take on my trip - that is until the issue of money came up.