People ask, “Are you ready for Christmas?” I
don’t know what that means, but I suspect it has to do with shopping. It starts with the crazy hours and crowds of
Black Friday, and it doesn’t get any better until after Christmas. But we can dream can’t we?
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to
know. You probably have heard Bing sing
White Christmas a few times; maybe you have even seen the movie starring Bing
Crosby and Danny Kaye.
The
Christmases I used to know were a lot closer to Crosby and Kaye than Costco and
Kohl’s. My family didn’t go Christmas shopping very much – maybe once or twice
a season. We stayed home and played games and watched TV. We went skating and sledding,
and we built snow forts and snowmen. And after we were done playing outside,
mom would take the broom and sweep the snow off of us before she let us inside,
where there was hot chocolate on the stove and a bag of marshmallows on the
counter.
The hardware store downtown would open its second floor to the public a couple weeks before Christmas. In that hardware store attic, 30 steps above hammers and nails, brushes and paints – the tools of toymakers – was a children’s treasure house. There were dolls and dishes, trains and trucks. Children, accompanied by their parents, would plod through the aisles wide-eyed and prod the merchandise.
Wayne, my father-in-law, who has been
gone almost twenty years, used to do all or most of his Christmas shopping on Christmas
Eve. He would always buy the same gifts for Rhonda’s three brothers and me.
About twenty-five years ago Wayne got
all the guys matching maroon sweatshirts. I don’t know what the others did with
theirs, but I still have mine, and it proudly shows its age. The elbows have
thinned and the shirt has lost some of its form, while the function has
improved. Even though holes have appeared out of nowhere and the seams are
beginning to separate, I won’t part with it. I don’t own a more comfortable
article of clothing or one I am more attached to.
Rhonda washes it by hand, as it still
sheds a rosy color. Does she think of her father, as the water turns red? Does
her heart bleed a little? I wonder if any of the gifts I give will still linger
when I’m gone. I would not guess a sweatshirt.
The wrong gift is quickly discarded
with disdain, but even the right gift may not survive decades of stress and
hand wringing. Toys break, cash is spent, and we eventually forget about most
everything else. There is also the problem of what to get the person who has
everything. The answer is you get them nothing – well almost nothing.
As I think about my own children and
grandsons I know what I want from them – nothing that money can buy. I
selfishly crave their time and love, and I freely offer mine. Please don’t
misunderstand me - I have appreciated all the gifts I have received over the
years, but they are no match for memories, time and love shared.
So
what’s Christmas all about? Charlie Brown’s friend, Linus, knew. It’s here in
black and white.
Luke 2:8 –
14 KJV
“And there
were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over
their flocks by night. And lo, the angel
of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them and
they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not, for behold, I
bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For
unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the
Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling
clothes, lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude
of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace, good will toward men.’”
That’s what
Christmas is all about.
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