I have been doing a bit (and hearing a bit) of Christmas griping lately. I will admit that I was annoyed when the Christmas music was playing on the radio and in the stores well before Thanksgiving. I have bristled at the Christmas-themed commercials on television telling me and my children that we need to go out and buy holiday-scented toilet paper, battery-operated, musical earmuffs, and the like. I have rebelled against my own Christmas-loving nature since I do not like to have commercialized Christmas jammed down my throat before I've even had time to properly digest the Halloween candy that I stole from my kids' trick-or-treat bags.
But today felt different since a somewhat unexpected winter storm converged upon us last night. When we woke up, it looked like this in my front yard...
School was delayed two hours, so there was extra time for morning chit-chat, hot breakfasts and crawling back into bed with our resident-little squirt to watch Blue's Clues before the school bus came. Later in the day, Lili's best buddy Mae came over for a visit. I cranked up the Christmas music voluntarily and the three of us danced like crazy in the kitchen for nearly half an hour. It looked and felt like Christmas, and I didn't even feel the least bit compelled to go online and buy a digital talking blender/ bread machine. Imagine that!
After I'd had my fill of squealing, singing, and delighted jumping with the wee ones, we decided to go down to the basement and start bringing up the Christmas decorations. Decorating for Christmas is always a process at our house. It happens bit by bit, and the first bits have begun to happen now. I carefully unwrapped a few of my favorite Christmas things like the slightly ugly, green macrame "Noel" sign made by my grandmother as well as the six blond choir boys that adorned that same grandmother's Christmas mantle every year.
How I love those choir boys! Each year they stood above my grandparents' fireplace, surrounded by plastic holly leaves, holding their little hymnals whilst silently singing their hearts out. Now they stand on my living room mantle with their same innocent faces, wide eyes, and mouths rounded into perfect O's. Today I happened to notice that one of the boys had a crack in his face and a chipped hymnal, and it made me love him just a little bit more. He has lived through many Christmases, and I think it is somewhat appropriate that he no longer looks perfect. Christmas is not about perfection.
The very first Christmas seemed far from perfect according to our modern holiday standards. There weren't any singing, ice skating snowmen or hot deals on the latest electronics. There was a humble girl giving birth in a "nasty barn" far from home. The scenario hardly seems worthy of celebration, but we do celebrate in all sorts of unusual ways. When I think about the first Christmas (not the version that we've romanticized in storybooks with rosy-cheeked shepherd boys and carol-singing livestock), and when I compare that scene to our modern day, materialistic frenzy, I realize that my annoyance at this time of year does not reflect a lack of real "Christmas Spirit."
Yes, we will have red-nosed reindeer, twinkling lights, and bouncy children who are hopped up on candy canes at my house. Of course I will embrace all of those things, but not because my television told me that it was time. In addition to cookie decorating and jingle bell ringing, we will have times of stillness for reading and reflecting. We will share our cares and our questions about the great mysteries of this life, and we will quietly marvel at the faith and hope expressed by those characters who were part of the very first Christmas so many years ago.
My sincerest gratitude goes out to the snow for opening my heart as I opened my front door and felt its silent, wintry beauty fill my senses. Now I am ready for Christmas.
But today felt different since a somewhat unexpected winter storm converged upon us last night. When we woke up, it looked like this in my front yard...
After I'd had my fill of squealing, singing, and delighted jumping with the wee ones, we decided to go down to the basement and start bringing up the Christmas decorations. Decorating for Christmas is always a process at our house. It happens bit by bit, and the first bits have begun to happen now. I carefully unwrapped a few of my favorite Christmas things like the slightly ugly, green macrame "Noel" sign made by my grandmother as well as the six blond choir boys that adorned that same grandmother's Christmas mantle every year.
How I love those choir boys! Each year they stood above my grandparents' fireplace, surrounded by plastic holly leaves, holding their little hymnals whilst silently singing their hearts out. Now they stand on my living room mantle with their same innocent faces, wide eyes, and mouths rounded into perfect O's. Today I happened to notice that one of the boys had a crack in his face and a chipped hymnal, and it made me love him just a little bit more. He has lived through many Christmases, and I think it is somewhat appropriate that he no longer looks perfect. Christmas is not about perfection.
The little cracked choir boy will not be dismissed to the trash because, in many ways, his cracks and chips make him more lovely and interesting.
Yes, we will have red-nosed reindeer, twinkling lights, and bouncy children who are hopped up on candy canes at my house. Of course I will embrace all of those things, but not because my television told me that it was time. In addition to cookie decorating and jingle bell ringing, we will have times of stillness for reading and reflecting. We will share our cares and our questions about the great mysteries of this life, and we will quietly marvel at the faith and hope expressed by those characters who were part of the very first Christmas so many years ago.
My sincerest gratitude goes out to the snow for opening my heart as I opened my front door and felt its silent, wintry beauty fill my senses. Now I am ready for Christmas.
1 comment:
I love your choir boys! And that snow was magical, wasn't it? It seemed to ring in the Christmas season in a way the pre-Thanksgiving commercials and music and other stuff entirely failed to do, despite how hard they tried.
Post a Comment