Christmas is…
I used to long for the perfect Christmas. I envisioned starting at Thanksgiving with the tree and decorations followed by all manner of Norman Rockwell-ish activities. Baking, making snowmen, sledding, drinking hot chocolate next to the fire, Christmas songs over the stereo, etc. And each year I manage to accomplish at least one of these to some degree. But no Christmas has ever seemed to measure up to my (impossibly high) standards.
Until this year.
This year I decided to not just lower my expectations but abandon them altogether. Rather than looking for the perfect Christmas, I focused on why I celebrate the season. I focused on Christ and His birth and what it ultimately means for me. I thought more about what matters and less about my Hollywood-Dickens-Rockwell mashup of what Christmas should be.
The tree went up around the second week in December, we never did get the garland around the bannisters, and once again we didn’t get Christmas cards mailed out or lights on the outside of the house. I didn’t bake much, and I certainly didn’t sip hot chocolate by the fire (after all, we live in San Antonio and don’t really use our fireplace for much more than candles). I didn’t listen to a lot of Christmas music (other than the fabulous songs we sang during our Christmas program at church). And through it all, I realized something very important.
I was pretty much stress-free during the entire run-up to this night. Sure, I took some much-needed (and rare) vacation time. Sure, we cut back on gift-buying and giving. But mostly, I discovered that I’m finally learning what’s important at the holidays.
And tonight it all came home during the last Christmas Eve service at church. I went out on stage and looked down on the front row. And I saw my daughters. Sitting in the front row. Singing. All the words to the songs I figured they had been ignoring. Raising their hands in worship. Smiling. Together. With us in the sanctuary as we all celebrated the real reason for Christmas.
And my heart was so full I thought I would burst. I hope I can remember that feeling during the next week or so and into next year as I get upset about their messy rooms, their grades, their tendency to be less than courteous to us. I hope I can remember this night, the night I realized that they will both be okay and grow up to be the kind of people Annette and I have always longed for them to be. In love with Christ. Focused on what’s important.
In closing, I thought I’d share this picture that I have posted before:
That’s my sister, me (in the middle), and my brother along with my father. I’m guessing that my mother is taking the picture. I’m probably five or six, and a couple of the ornaments in this picture now hang from my tree. I love this picture because it’s really one of the few I have of me as a little kid with my father.
I hope when my daughters are my age that they look back and remember nights like this one. That their children bring as much joy to them as they have to me. And that they, too, remember anew why we celebrate.
Christmas is many things to me. But most importantly, it’s love. Love of family, love of friends, and, above all, the love God showed to us when He sent Jesus to the earth in human form.
Merry Christmas!