Got Christmas?

Because I haven't. I admit it: I'm a grinch. I'm usually ready for it to be over about, like, Nov. 30th. :) How could a Christian not enjoy Christmas? There are many reasons. Initially, I was raised in a very conservative church where on the Sunday prior to Christmas, we usually got a 5 minute presermon lecture about why it wasn't okay to mention Christmas. It was a man made holiday, one centered around a pagan holiday. Really, in all honesty, these preachers would argue, we don't know the exact day of Christ's birth. God wanted it that way. IT was sinful to add anything to the Bible, so let's just skip it. To sum up: Christmas tree okay. Christmas in church, NOT okay.
Also, we were never at my home for Christmas. We usually traveled to the small town where my parents were raised, Stinnett, TX, and celebrated by dividing up the holiday in bittersweet fashion. Melba, my dad's mom, never got to see enough of our family. Jane, my stepmother, and Starkey, my grandpa, really seemed not to care if we were there or not, and especially if Jane's son, Noel, was in town, we could stop by for only a short visit so not to intrude on their time together. I got to see my favorite cousins every OTHER holiday, because there was a divorce in their family, and their father was estranged from our family, and wouldn't let me see my cousins. Usually, when we left Stinnett, we were traveling in the freezing cold or possibly a snow storm. By the time we reached Paradise or Bowie, the towns where I grew up, I was glad just to be home.
When my grandfather died in August of 93, we were freed from the tradition of traveling to the barren landscape of the Texas Panhandle. That year, in order to avoid all of the crap that surrounded Christmas, my family and my uncle, who suffered a nasty divorce that same year, traveled to Eagle's Pass New Mexico in the middle of a snowstorm, and stayed in a one star hotel room in the freezing cold next to honeymooners (that is what we all told ourselves, that they were honeymooners, and thus their noises were ordained and excused). Twice that year, my dad got caught up in the roll away fold out bed, and we were awakened to his screeches because he couldn't get out. My feet froze on the slopes, and there wasn't anything else to do but to run across the street to cook our turkey in a church kitchen. In other words, that first Christmas away from family was quirky and delightful. The next year, we were in Ruidoso, and Mike was with us. By the next year, we traveled to Santa Fe, NM, and we returned there for the subsequent 7 Christmases. We spent Christmas Eve in the casinos and Christmas Day on the slopes. We ate frozen lasagne and ham that had traveled in the back of our car from Post Texas. My granny Melba came with us, but none of us realized her cantankerous bewilderment was directly related to her dementia. We all laughed at tradition, laughed at the thought that sorrow was mixed with Christmas, laughed at the fools who gathered around a Christmas tree to pretend for one moment their families were functional and normal. We ignored anything related to Christ in Christmas, which is ironic, because we were all card carrying members of the Church of Christ. We didn't bother getting each other gifts, instead, we swapped cash for the casinos. Even granny Melba enjoyed the nickle slots and when we sat with her, her face would be smudged with darkness from the nickles she fed the slots. We trounced around Santa Fe, marveled at the closed stores, and ate black bean soup and green chicken enchiladas at the Blue Corn Tortilla. I LOVED CHRISTMAS in Santa Fe. Our last Christmas there, my uncle didn't join us. My granny Melba was living with him, and he didn't want to drive with her. That Christmas in Santa Fe, I was sick. I felt like I had the flu. I had to pee incessantly. On the way back on Christmas Day, we stopped by Mike's grandmother's house (Doris's last Christmas, actually), and she asked us if we ever planned to have children. She sensed that her days were waning, and wanted to know if she would see an heir. I honestly, and somewhat annoyingly told her the truth: God was in charge of that. By the time we got to Arlington, I realized that my period was officially late. I took a pregnancy test on Christmas Day: I was pregnant. Christmases were never the same again. (Being pregnant was an amazing Christmas Gift, I realize now, but at the time, I was really scared silly). That next Christmas, Jack's first, Doris died on the 23rd. We traveled to Winters on Christmas Day to say goodbye. It was a bittersweet Christmas. Subsequent Christmases have been bittersweet and odd, too. Molly Ann's first Christmas, we were in Houston and went to church where they barely mentioned it was Christmas Day. I know if the 25th hadn't fallen on Sunday, we wouldn't have been at church at all.
This Christmas, Mike and I decided to try something new: Christmas at home, and Christmas Eve at our new church, Highland Meadows Christian Church. We are actually keeping the nursery, having sandwich dinner afterwards, and Santa is coming to our house on the 24th. When we wake up, we will (God willing) be surrounded by my family, Mike's family, and I'll even get to see my first nephew's first Christmas! I am cooking (read: I bought a Christmas dinner from Central Market that should feed us) dinner here on Christmas night.
This Christmas, in order to honor the tradition of Christmas, I am focusing (or trying to) on the miracle of Christmas: That Jesus Christ came in human form to save us from Satan. That he, the prince of heaven who commanded the earth's seas and winds and mountains, was once a baby who was cared for by a girl named Mary, who was, until after he was born, a virgin. I am praying that God will make me understand Christmas and that I won't feel so alienated from the Christian holiday that the whole word acknowledges. I am praying I will be hospitable, and not overwhelmed by having so much company. I am praying that I will see my blessings, and that when I see my children on Christmas morning, the desire I have to head for the hills of Santa Fe and to hit the casinos dissipates. (Evidently Jack and Molly are too young for the slots?)
My wish for you this Christmas is that you will feel it, too. That you will smell the hay, and see the simple pink skin of our savior, swaddled tight in his mother Mary's arms, safe from Herrod's murderous schemes. I wish for you that you will understand what I've somehow managed for 33 years to miss: Christmas is about a miraculous plan. That heaven's most brilliant son would humble himself to come into a world of darkness to save me (and all men). That, as I'm sure you've already known for many years, is what I hope to learn this holiday. Christmas is about Christ's servant heart. I hope by going to church on Christmas Eve, and helping in the nursery, God will let me feel the joy that surrounds this fact. I am glad God has been patient with me while I focus on the real spirit of Christmas. I pray that he will accept my humble thanksgiving for my many blessings, for Jack and Molly, happy and healthy children who acknowledge him. That I can be thankful that my parents are alive and healthy, and still adore my whole family. That they are still together and have been since 1969. That my husband still loves me and shares the holidays with me. That Mike's family will be here to watch Jack and Molly at Christmas time. That we have enough to eat and a place to live while we are here: and that because of that Christmas in Bethlehem 2000 years ago, we have a place to live in the future, too, when we die. My prayer, I am afraid, symbolizes my spiritual immaturity. Surely, someone who was baptized at 12 would have picked up on all of this by now. And, still, for me this feels like the first Christmas to stop and consider it all.
Merry Christmas. I hope you enjoy the many blessings of your lives this year.