My father-in-law used to say the heaviest thing for him to pick up
was a pen. That was back in the days when people used such outdated implements
to correspond with each other. Nowadays, we might say the hardest things to
un-stick are the keyboard letters. Either way, we're talking about writer's
block, and mine has been noticeable these last few months.
I must acknowledge
and dedicate this post to my dear friend René, who has been gently nudging me
for several weeks now to get back on the proverbial horse and ride. A faithful
reader of my blog, she has been dutifully checking for the latest posts, only
to find there were NONE! I've been blaming my reticence on the old
standby, Christmas busy-ness, but René was having none of it.
"It's been
well over a month! It is time!" was her last admonition to me; so René,
this one's for you.
We do make
Christmas ridiculously busy in our culture. Not surprisingly, we become tired
and cranky, and turn what should be a joyous celebration of imperial birth
into a time of stress and often emptiness. My own cycle goes something like
this:
I begin to get the
Christmas spirit before Thanksgiving. I wait anxiously for B101 and oldies 98
to start playing round the clock Christmas music, and wade through my
disorganized collection of CD's to supplement the radio's somewhat limited
offerings. I gradually decorate the house until one day I walk downstairs and
realize my vinyl Christmas tablecloth is just too
much, and secretly look forward to stashing it away till next year. When
my children were younger, I read Christmas stories and the Christmas story to them at
bedtime; now that they're more or less grown, I read heartwarming yule tales to
myself, without telling anyone (till now). Our family lights scented candles
that make our artificial tree seem more piney, while watching Nick at Night's
Christmas marathon, circa 1994, for the thousandth time, and munching
cheater's Pillsbury cookies out of the freezer (they don't necessarily
have to be baked; we don't believe in wasting time).
As our family is of mixed lineage, we celebrate Hanukkah as
well as Christmas. This is one of my favorite parts of the holiday celebration,
as it reminds me of my dear father, whose menorah (wax-encrusted and in dire
need of polishing, but nevertheless quite functional) almost makes it seem like
he's still with us. I send out holiday cards in batches, wending my way
through two dilapidated personal address books and several church
directories. Throughout the month I package up homemade goodies (often
"ghost-baked" by my fairy godmother, Anita, whose banana bread is
listed right next to nectar and ambrosia on the official menu for the gods),
and deliver said treats to deserving service providers, whose good will I
hope to maintain in the new year.
Somewhere around
the 20th I start to panic, realizing I haven't wrapped a thing, let alone
finished shopping. I make one last trip to the mall and begin wrapping with
abandon. Towards the end of the Scotch Tape (and my patience), I switch
over to bagging, which is more sensible anyway, since my boys have zero
appreciation for ribbons, bows, or Thomas Kinkade-themed paper.
December 24th is
probably my favorite day of the year, and I try to enjoy it to the fullest. I
finish whatever is left to do in the way of gifting or cooking, often
visit with family and friends, and generally savor the expectancy of the day.
I treasure going to church on Christmas Eve, feeling the warmth in my
heart glow brighter with the singing of each cherished hymn. After circling the
tree with gifts, I settle down to watch Scrooge or George Bailey evolve
into the men God intends them to be, while offering up silent thanks for the
many blessings in my life.
Before I know it, Christmas day has arrived, with all
its wonderful chaos. Some expectations are met, while other longings
remain. One thing I can always count on: it goes too fast. While I'm
always relieved that the mad rush is over, I usually also feel a
sense of loss of excitement and forward-looking. The realization that
winter is upon us, with all its dark, dreary days, that financial aid forms and
tax season loom, and no amount of twinkling lights can make those
realities go away. In short, a sense that the fun is over, and it's time to get
back to work.
No matter how old
I get, I can't seem to make the after-Christmas doldrums go away. I count
the days till it's time to go back to work, and bite my nails the night before
vacation ends. I usually try to stretch out the last day as much as possible,
pretending the dawn won't come, and with it, the inevitable jolt back
to ordinary life.
Through it all, I try to stick close to
God, remembering it is He whose Son we are celebrating. Still, I wake
up the day after New Years tired, over-stuffed with food and
frolicking, till one thing catches me up short.
Jesus is right
where I left Him.
"Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and
forever." Hebrews 13:8
