One doesn’t have to
look hard or listen very close to figure out how Christmas is portrayed. “I
should be playing in the winter snow, but I’m gonna be under the mistletoe….
Everyone’s gathered around the fire. Chestnuts roasting…” (Misteltoe – Justin
Beiber). “Santa Claus is coming to town. He’s making a list and checking it
twice.” “When Christmas Day is here. The most wonderful day of the year.”
(Rudolf and the Island of Misfit Toys) “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Everywhere you go. Take a look at the five and ten, it’s glistening once again
with candy canes and silver lanes that glow….Toys in every store. But the
prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be on your own front door…There’s
a tree in the Grand Hotel and one in the park as well….soon the bells will
start.”
Growing up, I loved
waiting and watching the Christmas boxes coming out from the rafters. Boxes
that were stashed away, but within reach when we needed them. Our blue plates
were traded out for holly printed and gold rimmed ones (that we couldn’t put in
the microwave). Pictures were moved off the main walls so that we could hang
our stockings. White icicle lights were hung with a line of color lights around
the perimeter of the house. Nativity scenes were put on the pellet stove mantel
and old England scene with cotton snow on top of the piano. Grandma’s handmade
advent calendar was back by the bedrooms and a hanging Santa with balancing
glasses in the bathroom. One tree was in the front room and one was in the back
to accommodate all the ornaments we’ve made, gathered, or were given throughout
our lives. A giant woven basket that stored all of the Christmas books was
right next to the couch begging to be read. It really did start to look like
Christmas.
Last year, I missed
the stuff. This year, the feeling is still there, but not as strong. I’ve
realized everything in those boxes is stuff. Stuff that will break, be lost, be
handed down through generations and packed back up in the new year. Stuff is
just stuff. So, what makes it valuable enough to miss even after two years?
The plates are the
reminder of so many laughs around the family table eating delicious food
together. The stockings aren’t just something parents picked up for us once we
were born and wrote our names in sharpie. They are cross-stitched by Dad with
our names and the entire alphabet themed around Christmas. The Nativities range
from how they came into our lives, but remind us to get the real meaning of
Christmas centered. Grandma’s calendar that we would take turns who got to pull
out an ornament for the felt tree, but made sure each kid was allowed to pull
out the day that matched his/her age. The laughs, smiles, and stories retold
for all the ornaments that came out of tissue and boxes. Curling up with cocoa
to hear the Christmas stories being reread, by those who taught us to read.
Stuff helps make
traditions. The pan with cutmarks in the bottom that Dad uses for his caramels
is somehow elevated in importance now more than the rest of the year. “Muppet’s
Christmas Carol” that we watch practically every year with smiles and laughs.
The candles in the advent wreath in the center of our table that we love to
light. The orange in the toe of our stockings. But, the stuff is just an
accessory. The important parts are the family and friends that make traditions
and memories.
A paper tree with a
bald angel on top, a small silver angel ornament hanging on my lightswitch and
red twisted streamers are the only decorations that suggest it’s Christmas
season at all. It’s actually more up then I had last year. There were two
packages to open for Christmas, but today I didn’t have anything for my
birthday. Stuff is pretty low.
I’m so far away
from my family. Calling is tricky as network and power are inconsistent and
choppy. I miss the traditions with my family in a way I can’t articulate adequately
or give justice to. Sometimes the pain is real and makes me wonder why I’m
sacrificing so much time away from family to be here. I dream of just having
one hour with the family.
But then, my eyes
open and I realize the stuff may be limited here. My biological family may be
far away. But I’m wrapped in love and purpose here. I have friends that wish me
Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday even though Christmas isn’t for another week
in their calendar and only small children really celebrate birthdays. There are
friends that I play volleyball with until after the sunsets and walk home
shivering with. Friends that call and text me wishing me a great new year and
those that post Facebook messages to make me smile. Friends that call me sister
and truly treat me like one. Students that laugh, smile and question why Saint
Nick left money in socks, but eagerly write letters to him asking for an
education, sheep, lollipops and cars.
I don’t have much.
But I do have a purpose. I do know that music can convey the real meaning of
Christmas is lyrics like: ““Go tell it on the mountain that Jesus Christ is
born.” “Angels we have heard on high sweetly singing ov’r the plains. And the
mountains in reply echoing their joyous praise. Glooooooooooooooooooria. In excelcius
Deo.” “God rest ye merry gentlemen. Let nothing you dismay. Remember Christ our
Savior was born on Christmas day. To save us all from Satan’s powers when we had
gone astray. Oh tidings of comfort and joy.” We give gifts to remember the
greatest gift given to us out of love (John 3:16-17). Gifts may be stuff. But
they are part of how we show love to one another.
I’m appreciative of
all the care packages that I have received. The stuff that conveys love and
good wishes. I look forward to when those that I know are coming will finally
arrive. However, I do look around my room and wonder where all the stuff I do
have comes from. How has it accumulated and why? What will I do with it all
when I leave? Stuff is stuff. What gives it value is the people that make it
memorable.
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