Christmas rolled around and we had been married for about six months. I, a forceful twenty-year old bride, was married to a husband who gave his opinions while stepping out of the way so he wouldn't get hurt in the process. My hobby was cleaning the outside - my appearance, my house, my occupation, and whatever else I could perfect in my own strength and in my own sight.
Christmas was a struggle. The budget, small as it was, swelled beyond the prearranged goal. My small family traditions were merged without grace to a family well-set in traditions and expectations. The little apartment, which I cleaned constantly, was rearranged in order to accommodate a modest, yet affordable, pine tree, which was promptly decorated with all ten ornaments that our newly-married existence allowed us. Small gifts were collected in a spare few inches of available space.
My usual Christmas was supplanted, the budget was misplaced, and my security in the clean and orderly swept away in a bundle of pine needles and curling ribbon.
That first Christmas I came home to the messy little house full of Christmas decorations and new gifts needing homes and no part of the holiday to call my own and I plopped my wearied self down on the couch in search of respite.
I didn't take me long to decide how to relieve my heaviness. I looked at Brad playing his usual video game, and I said, "I'm going to clean."
Being the husband that he was at the time, he made a few complaints, which I took as suggestions, and I pushed ahead. By the end of the evening every scrap of Christmas was gone.
After my work-out I sat myself on my couch, flicked on the television, and sighed in deep contentedness. It was over. Brad shook his head in disbelief.
I have a slight memory of Brad being a bit more assertive the next year and him assuring me the Christmas decorations were not coming down on the same day. But it was okay. They never did again. Heck, this year they might stay up until mid-January!
I look back at Christmas Past and realize now how the busyness of the holidays had left me feeling out of control and rather lost. My solution, in the perfectionist world in which I I was living, was to do something within my power and I stripped my home of all things Christmas, because Christmas had come and gone and I was left on the couch asking where was the familiar.
But I have moved from that small apartment and into a the world of children. There are battery-operated wax candles that are no longer on the dining room table because Simon has tried to eat them. There is a dirty sock on the floor that has been there for at least four days. On my fourth or fifth load of laundry today I might get to that sock. The house is a beautiful mess topped with Christmas lights. And the Christmas lights are pretty.
Christmas still rings slightly of the unfamiliar and uncomfortable for me. My heart aches for simplicity and silence and all-day pajamas. But as my spirit matures the good Lord speaks to me and as I move away the normal knick-knacks to place the inherited manger in its place, I think, "Isn't that what Jesus always does?" He moves the ordinary and comfortable out of the way to make room for Himself. And it's a good thing. It's something, like pruning, that is uncomfortable at times, but when the fruit season comes it comes in abundance.
I'm still not sure how I feel about Christmas. My heart has not yet molded to the idea of obligatory events and the need to "keep up" with all that comes with baking and giving and receiving, but it has softened. It's softened.
Christmas really should be about displacing the old and making room for the new. Maybe moving the comfort in favor of a deeper relationship with family? Maybe placing age old traditions in place of a quiet time before The Lord? Who knows? Only the One who moved away the picturesque manger in favor of the Cross.
I do picture Christ making that move. I see Him shoving up His dingy sleeves, placing rough hands on the hay-filled trough, and pushing it aside to make room for the Cross.
I think of my neighbor who is celebrating a Christmas without her son for the first time. He died over Thanksgiving. I think of friends who have lost fathers recently and parents who might be losing their new baby soon and daughters-in-law who listen to the cutting criticism of their mother-in-law.
So much discomfort and anxiety and sadness. Such grief.
And yet, the One who pushed the manger away to drag in the Cross whispers, "And yet so much joy." Joy and sorrow deeply mingled this Christmas. As it has been since the very first Christmas when the Baby arrived. Joy and sorrow.
I'm going to continue my laundry, pick up that sandy sock, and might rest in the idea of leaving the Christmas manger up all year. Joy.
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