Hi everyone. It’s been a long time. Too long. Thought I’d share the piece below, which I wrote for a small local paper a few weeks back. Wishing you a very happy Thanksgiving, and a blessed holiday season…
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They did it. That radio station, which shall remain nameless, flipped the switch and flooded my minivan with Christmas music. My son’s ninja costume is still sprawled across his bed. There’s nary a turkey in sight, and yet everywhere I go I hear jingle bells.
The hustle-and-bustle ramps up, and the premature jolly runs the risk of wearing out its fur-trimmed welcome long before Christmas morning. That’s the way of things now, isn’t it? The stores are open on Thanksgiving this year so we can duke it out for the “it” toy. Because nothing says gratefulness like an elbow-check to the kidney.
Still, each of us is eventually and inevitably enchanted by the only holiday that still holds magic. That got me thinking. What is it about Christmas that continues to cast its reindeer-dust spell? For all the commercialism we’re plagued with, for the must-have toys and the ever-changing technology that demands to be updated, how is it that that undeniable, unspecified merriness…that je ne sais quoi (pardon my French) never fails to take hold?
I think it’s because, no matter what excess we tack onto the holidays, it’s the Christmastime constants that hold us fast.
It’s the memories. It’s the sharp pine scent or the rich taste of eggnog that whisks us back and, in that moment, it’s as if we’re reliving every Christmas all at once. The flash of tinsel or the sound of sleigh bells brings on a heart-swell, and for a breath we’re certain Santa is still creeping down the chimney.
It’s the children. For us grown-folk, it’s a time of stress and checklists and gift receipts. But when we watch little ones’ wide-eyed wonder as we recite T’was the Nite Before Christmas, or retell that age-old story of the Star and the Wise Men and the manger, the birth of a single, fate-changing child…we can’t help but feel it, too.
It’s the spirit of outward focus. We give. We pause for a visit with the neighbor and we realize it’s been far too long. For a time, we forget ourselves, and it feels heavenly. Why? Here’s what I think. When some big-time skeptics tried to trick Jesus into choosing the most important of the ten commandments, He had this to say: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul and all your mind…the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself.” I’ve often wondered, even if you’re a non-Christian, how can you argue with that second part? If we all got just this one thing right, if we all shunned our respective selfishness gene, imagine how different the world would be.
It’s the silence. If you haven’t noticed it before, pay attention this season. There’s always a silence. The first snowfall. The hush that follows the last bow on the last wrapped present. The moments of shimmering twilight on Christmas Eve, or the quiet of Christmas morning. It’s a soul-soothing silence of quiet reflection, when you feel all the good in the world, both real and potential.
These things are Christmastime constants. Never changing, they will always be integral to a life well-lived. No matter what the media or the government or the Joneses cast our way, we strengthen ourselves with these timeless truths, and our hearts are anchored through the years by the things that matter most.
Image courtesy of luigi diamanti at FreeDigitalPhotos.net