Apologies for the lack of posts the last couple days. Here, in the USA, Christmas hit like an annual tsunami.
I never understood the whole “war on Christmas” rhetoric. Radio stations play carols nonstop. Every pop star appears to have recorded a holiday album. If there’s a shortage of glitter, it certainly hasn’t hit this area.
Santa arrived via semi truck in our fair town. Nativity creches pepper every other yard. Lights twinkle all night, no worries on elevated electric bills.
Public school festivals feature icons of the season. Television shows hail a Christmas episode. Trays of cookies herald a calorific celebration.
Families rush together, tears of frustration flow, and as quickly as the celebration began, it ends with each person returning to their definition of reality, leaving a cascade of napkins and spilled egg nog in their wake.
In the rush to celebrate the birth of a child, it sometimes feels like we’ve completely forgotten the child.
In a time when we’re supposed to be celebrating our savior, sometimes it feels like he takes back seat to the festivities.
So little time. So much to do.
As I journaled my thoughts on the birth of Christ, I realized I’d fallen into the “busy” trap. As a writer, my life’s full of deadlines. Now I’d turned my faith into a series of deadlines.
It felt terrible.
So, I quit baking. I decided to quit searching for the “perfect” gift. I relaxed. I refused to step into the tidal wave of the season and stopped rushing.
The beautiful Amish song kept repeating itself in my mind.
Tis a gift to be simple, ’tis a gift to be free…
The birth of a child is sacred. Those first few moments are magical. Quiet. Reflective.
Filled with anticipation.
So… that’s how I approached these last few days: in quiet reflection, anticipating the birth of a very special child.
Sometimes you have to do that.
I hope you’ll take time to doodle about your latest holiday experience. What will you do differently next year? What experiences were so awesome, you’ll give it another go?