We were sitting in a back pew of the Presbyterian church in State Center, three young boys dressed as the three wise men. Not sure how much research went into the outfits; sheets or possibly tablecloths may have been involved. As we waited to play our part in the pageant, Kelly opened a toy treasure chest he was carrying and revealed unto us a Christmas miracle.

He had filled it with candy.

We sat there munching away in the semi-dark sanctuary, marveling at his ability to plan ahead and thinking that holidays just don’t get any better than this.

Oh, it was always a cozy time on Christmas Eve in the old church. One year, one of the Cronk girls sang “Silent Night” in German, which was impressive and didn’t seem odd at all in a town with so much German heritage. I can still hear her: Stille nacht, heilige nacht ….

One year I must have been a shepherd, or possibly Joseph, because I carried a long shepherd’s staff that my dad made. He went with the electrical conduit motif, bent into a nice curve at the top and wrapped with brown tape to make it look like wood. Sort of.

Another time, we carried candles that had been punched through cardboard squares to catch the wax. As ingenious as that must have seemed, it didn’t actually work. That night we learned that hot wax on your hand is extremely painful, but we certainly couldn’t cry out or ditch the candles. It was church. It was Christmas Eve.

Each year after the serious part of the event, the kids would each get a small paper bag filled with peanuts in the shell, English walnuts and an orange. And, just to show how muddled a religious heritage can get without a good, stout theocracy to run things, I’m pretty sure Santa Claus showed up as part of the extravaganza at least once or twice.

After the program, our family would drive out into the countryside – which commenced within a walnut’s throw of the church – and go looking for Christmas light displays. We would have seen everything the townsfolk had to offer by then, but it was still a treat to come upon a farmhouse with lights on the shrubs, or maybe a barn with a star on the roof.

I’m sure we listened to Christmas music on some radio station – maybe KSO in Des Moines or KFJB in Marshalltown — as we drove. When we got home, it was positively thrilling to hear a serious, professional TV person report that a sleigh had been spotted, being pulled through the sky by reindeer. Now try to fall asleep.

Then it was Christmas morning, and we could hardly believe it had finally arrived. It felt like no other morning of the year, like a Hollywood version of the others, a shiny, fragile morning made of glass. After a burst of present-opening – I’m guessing maybe a half-dozen gifts per child – we had a whole day ahead of us that retained most of that dream-like quality, even though the highlights were done.

Kelly the candy boy went on to raise hogs and has been featured in magazines for his innovative marketing tactics. Once a planner, always a planner. The third wise man – the minister called us The Three Wise Guys, which we liked – might have been Tom, who works a couple of blocks away from me now. Haven’t seen him in years.

In “Casablanca,” Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman will always have Paris, and they make it sound tough to beat.

But I’ll always have Christmas in State Center, and that was pretty good, too.