How We’re Doing Christmas Wrong & Stressing Ourselves Out

Before we begin, let’s first revisit the true meaning of Christmas. Its not “giving”, its not “sharing,” its not “doing charity,” although all of those are good things and we can make a logical argument why they are related to Christmas. But really, the holiday is the observance/recognition/celebration/remembrance of the birth of Jesus Christ, Lord and Savior.  Linus explains that pretty clearly to all the Peanuts kids.  And yes – I know about winter Solstice and harvest festivals, Santa Claus, Christmas trees, etc. etc. But, still, Christmas is about Jesus Christ’s birth even if it is on December 25 for some random reason that has nothing to do with the Bible that some folks long time ago thought would be a good day.

Now that we’ve got that straightened out, here’s how we’re doing this thing all wrong, causing ourselves a bunch of stress.

Note, that I am writing this blogpost surrounded by open boxes of gold ribbon, sparkly ornaments, statues of angels and snowmen, and green garland, while taking a break from draping everything in my house in boughs of holly. So, yes, I am including myself in that “we.”

We treat Christmas as the “Give Everyone You Have Ever Seen in the Past Year a Gift” Day.  Why am I giving the dude who drops off my newspaper or cuts my grass a Christmas gift?  Why is my dentist sending me a Christmas card? My kids’ teachers and coaches are nice people, but why do I need to give each and every one of them a Christmas gift? I don’t even know if all these people are Christians. Why don’t we give some of these people gifts on a day that makes more sense? Give the grass cutter his tip at the end of summer. Give the coach a gift at the end of the season. Give the teacher a gift during Teacher Appreciation week or on the last day of school as an apology for all the headaches your child has caused. Why Christmas?

We try to include everyone in Christmas. I had to catch myself the other day as I was looking for Christmas cards (which I haven’t sent out yet.) I picked up cards with a Nativity scene and Bible verses on them, then started looking for a box that I could send to people who may not be Christian. Why? I said to myself. Why am I looking for not-too-Christmas-y Christmas cards to send to non-Christians? This doesn’t even make sense! I’ve never received a Hannakuh card, am not offended by that and doubt that my Jewish friends even think twice about it.

Giving folks random stuff as gifts. With all the gifting, we give pretty bad gifts.  Why, oh why, do we think that giving someone an icescraper is a good gift? Or underwear? Or any other thing that you grabbed up from the CVS aisle on December 24^th?  The other day, we were in the store and saw a gift package – it had a razor, shaving cream, and deodorant all wrapped up in a pretty box. My kids and I laughed so hard - this is a terrible gift. It says “here, I was thinking about how hairy and smelly you are – Merry Christmas.” What? Why is that giftboxed? Because we panic when we look at the 5011 people on our gift list and start just grabbing random nonsense off the shelves and sticking a bow on it. Cut your list to people you really care about, buy them something with thought. I’d rather get a candy cane than a bottle of shaving cream.

We threaten to “take away Christmas.” What’s the go-to response when our kids act up or don’t do so great on their report card, especially post-Thanksgiving when Santa starts making his list?  But we can’t “take away Christmas” anymore than we can take away Saturday or the sun coming up. December 25 is coming regardless of what your kid does, unless he can stop time.  What we really mean is we are not going to give them gifts if they don’t what we want them to do. But this conditionality isn’t what Christmas is about; in fact, it’s the opposite.  God sent Jesus because He loved His people. Unconditionally. And after the folks still acted up – in the Bible and since then - God didn’t say “too bad – no more Jesus for you.” Jesus is the full earthly embodiment of unconditional love.  This is what we should model in our Christmas celebration, not threatening to take away a box of Legos or a doll because our kids didn’t make up their bed.

We think everybody should celebrate Christmas… or nobody should.  I didn’t even pay attention to that Starbucks red cup thing since I don’t need a coffee house to tell me how and when to celebrate a religious holiday. How much energy and debate goes on each year over whether there should be a Nativity scene in the town square, whether the kids should sing Rudolph in the Winter Concert, why we can’t hang a Santa on the school door, _______ (fill in the blank with your neighborhood example.)  Observe your own holiday, be respectful of others who may or may not wish to join you, don’t be offended if a symbol of Christmas dares to cross your sight.

Even Non-Christians let themselves get stressed out about Christmas. I kinda feel bad for people who aren’t Christian, because I assume its some kind of social pressure that makes them come up with an associated celebration of a holiday that they don’t celebrate. They have to mail out some kind of cards, explain to their kids who Santa is and why he’s not coming to their house, or pack up and head to Hawaii to get away from all the boughs of holly. (Okay, I don’t feel bad for those people on the beach.) If I was non-Christian, I think I would like to ignore all the Christmas hoopla and focus on my normal life or the trauma its going to cause my kids.

The Elf on the Shelf. I’m just so glad that this phenomenon caught on after my kids were too old to be amused by it. That’s all.

Letting all the ways we're "supposed" to enjoy Christmas stress us out. Yes, Christmas has morphed into this religious, but also secular, holiday and the meaning gets lost in the shuffle sometime. That’s something we each have to work out for our own households.  But while we’re doing it – let’s get rid of the extras that add to our stress and stop doing the stuff that doesn't bring us joy so that we can truly enjoy the spirit of the holiday instead of approaching it dreading all the work it "requires."  And in the meantime, I’ll be dancing with the Peanuts gang and the Jackson 5 and watering my poinsettias.

Stepping out on Faith

- Swim half a mile in open water (a real body of water, not a pool.)  Check.

- Run across a 1.5 mile, really high bridge.  Check. 

- Participate in a skit in public.  

- Pursue a passion. 

 

I don't like participating in skits.  Actually, let me correct that - I hate participating in skits.  Especially in public.  For me, any public performance is a break-out-in-sweat event.  Especially some improv thing.  How much do I hate being in skits?  So much so that in the Girl Scout activity guide where it lists skits as an activity option, I skip it just to avoid the possibility that the girls might ask me to be a part of it.  Yeah, I'm that bad.

 

So what happens this evening?  I go to a women's conference and get put into a group and we have to do a skit!  And it was at church so I couldn't say no, nor could I come up with some lie about why I wasn't going to do it.  I would've much rather run on the cold, long bridge again.

 

Why?  Why do we not like doing certain things?  We're scared, right?  Scared that we won't be successful - won't finish the race, will drown, will not be interesting in the skit, will be a bad speaker.  We're scared of failure, because it will be in front of everyone and who wants to do that?  Well, yes, of course it's the public part because we don't care what happens when we're  by ourselves.  I talk all day long when there's not a bunch of folks looking at me.  

 

I had to do the skit, no way out of it.  Hmmm...

The theme of the conference is about stepping out on faith, maybe that could be a hint.  Faith - the belief and trust in things not seen.  And that "thing" should be bigger than yourself because if all you've got to believe in is yourself, it would seem to kinda limit your expectations.  The key to having faith is that the thing you believe in - deity, spirit, star - should be a wiser, stronger, more knowledgeable being that knows what's waiting for you on the other side of whatever venture you are stepping into.  For me, it's God; it could be something/body different for you, but let's hope it's bigger than you.

 

Back to the skit.  Can't say I wasn't nervous, can't say I was good, can't say I was enthusiastic.  I was  none of that.  But having faith doesn't make you all the sudden not nervous or good or enthusiastic, you are still you after all.  Faith is not a magic wand - it's a journey, you're stepping in faith, moving forward.  Well, I made it through the skit.  And guess what?  My group won as the favorite skit!  That's the other thing that happens when you have faith.  Somehow the people, the resources, the stuff that needs to be in place for you to succeed is put where it needs to be.  For this skit, it was the enthusiastic, obviously skit-loving ladies in my group.  

 

What about that other thing on the list?  Following my passion, pursuing a dream.   Taking a few steps.  This blog is one of them.  Thanks for walking with me. 

  

Stepping out on faith... fashionably.

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A Last Meal

Its customary in many countries, to give a death-row inmate the option to request a last, special meal.  Although, after one such prisoner ordered a buffet-like table recently, the powers-that-be in the state of Texas declared that his was the last last meal.  From now on, Texas inmates will eat what everybody else in the prison eats on their last day.

It is an interesting custom, letting a prisoner choose his last meal.  He can do that and choose to see a religious figure, a priest, a pastor, whomever his beliefs require.  I guess it’s the prison systems way of extending some display of graciousness and hospitality before they put a person to death.  It must be important, too, the news reports of an execution always include the menu of the last meal.  The varied choices are interesting, ranging from lobster to chicken fried steak to cookies and candy bars.  I’m sure I’m not the only one who wonders what I would choose for my last meal.

Not declaring a position for or against capital punishment, I can see the attraction of being granted a last meal.  With certainty, the prisoner knows that the events of his last few days and hours, like the months and years before it, will be out of his control.  He will make no decisions about what he will wear, where he will go, what he will do in his remaining days.  As he ponders his mortality, he has two decisions that he can control.  One, has he made his peace with God.  Two, what is the last thing he’s going to eat before going to see God (or not).

These two thoughts can occupy a man’s mind quite fully.  Hours, if not days and weeks, can be spent coming to some conclusion.

 Do I believe in God?  Steak or fish?  Such fundamental questions may require a person to go back through the feelings deep in his soul.  What is it that they believe in, what do they hold to be important and true.  Do they believe in an omnipotent higher power?  Are they making the world a better place by not eating red meat? 

After the chicken and the sweet potatoes and rice, a last meal wouldn’t be complete without dessert.  But all desserts aren’t made the same.  Generally, the best ones are laden with the most sugar and the most fat.  A great dessert would be one that someone else takes on all the calories and you can just enjoy the sweetness.  What if there was that kind of dessert?  Do I accept Jesus as my savior?  Chocolate chip marshmallow toffee ice cream or fat-free, low sugar apple pie? 

Do I want to go to heaven?  Will I be reincarnated?  Iced chai latte or Red Hot cocktail?  Soon after the meal is over, the person will enter perpetual sleep.  The decisions he makes before he closes his eyes will determine what happens after that.

It’s a lot to think about.  But at least the inmate has a good guess on the day and hour by which he needs to decide.  Milk and honey or Devil's Food?

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth...

If you've been in church enough, you know the Apostles' Creed.  Your mind knows the words, and today, I found that even without knowing the language, your heart knows the rhythm.

We visited The Cathedral of Notre Dame (Paris) this morning.  Just as we were crossing the street, the famous bells tolled, calling the faithful to service.  We entered thru the massive doors and took a row of seats near the back.  In revered awe, my eyes could not help but look higher and higher into the ceilings above us, drawn to the architectural lines and the magnificent stained glass windows.  Accompanied by singing, I saw the cross being carried into the nave and down the aisle to the pulpit.  The priest waved incense thru the air and the service began.  Now, let me note here that we are not Catholic, so this entire mass experience, aside from being in French, is new to us.  We followed along, standing and sitting when everyone else did and watching as the priest served communion.

In the comforting sound of the French mass, I felt calmed enough to think about where we were and how we got there, not only on this particular Sunday morning, but in life in general.  I reflected on how God has blessed our lives and covered us with grace.  With my eyes resting on the curved lines of the ceiling, I imagined the hundreds of people that built this cathedral for praise and the thousands who have worshipped here.  I marveled at the universality of faith in God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit.

At some point in the service, the rhythm of the congregation's words felt familiar. And we fell in concert...
"who was conceived by the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, crucified, dead and buried.  On the third day, He arose from the dead and ascended into heaven..."

After service, we found rows of candles lining the walls.  Each candle the physical manifestation of someone's prayer.  To me, each candle was a reminder of our own flickering, temporal existence in this great world.  How much that light wavered and how long it lasted was not under our control, but God's, no matter how long we wanted it to burn.  In that great cathedral of worship, I lit a candle and said a prayer.  And then I left those hopes and worries in God's hands.