Hallmark Holidays

For several Christmases we were the recipients of a well-favored spruce, donated by a tree farmer in our small church. After wrestling the tree into the tree stand, and digging out all the boxes marked "Christmas", we set to work.

We don't splurge on decorations, draping our house with lights and fake snow until it resembles a movie set from White Christmas. No, it's the same old stuff. The small, church-shaped candle (part of its steeple bitten off by a child with a few too many candy canes under his belt.) The ceramic angel that had its head glued so often that we were gluing the glue. The half-melted wise-man candle, irreverently used to light the bathroom one night during a power failure.

Then the tree. Special, fancy ornaments from Grandpa and Grandma. Decorations from my pre-family years as a teacher. Crocheted ones. Stuffed ones. Paper ones, painstakingly hand-crafted by small hands, resembling something between a star and a spider with stomach cramps.

Of all the decorating sessions, the tree won out with the most "Kodak moments."

Pre-Kid Era--
Christmas carols waft softly through the room. Wife lovingly and strategically places each ornament on the tree. Husband reads the paper on the sofa.

Early Kid Era--
Christmas carols are playing softly. You just can't hear them. Each child, with his or her own carefully calculated mound of ornaments ("So she doesn't get more than I have!") Stand poised by the tree. Mom shouts "Go!" and...presto! The tree is trimmed in 3.7 minutes. Mom stands nearby, giving subtle placement hints, like,

"Maybe we should try to decorate the top part of the tree, too!", or
"Let's put some in this big empty place," or
"We probably don't need to put all the ornaments on only two branches."

Husband checks into a motel. Later, in the dead of night, Mom rearranges the ornaments --some, not all, mind you--just some. (Optional - Mom puts up a fake metallic tree during the day while husband and kids are gone.)

Mid-Kid Era--
This year, we search for our own tree. We drive towards the tree farm, headlights poking through the darkness as Dad glances at the address on the 10%-off-your-first-tree coupon. Hands jammed into mitts, we burst from the car like popcorn from a pan of Jiffy-Pop. Kids race to the free hot chocolate. Mom races to the bon-fire. Dad races to the price tag on a nearby tree. Burl Ives' ho-ho's float through the loud-speaker and curl through the frosty air around us. Later, when the tree has been chosen, the dregs have been drained from our foam cups, and Dad has muttered into his wallet, we shiver our way back to the car. Later at home, we follow a trail of tinsel and pine needles to the action spot. A forgotten Christmas tape sits forlornly in the cassette player. The perfectionist mom fights a losing battle.

"But it's not straight yet!"
"Who cares -- my pile of presents will prop it up."
"You're not supposed to put on the tinsel until the ornaments are on!"
"Grandma gave me the soldier! I'm supposed to hang it up!"
"Would you please move! I was standing here first."
"This is my branch. Go hang yours over there."
"Dad said this year it was my turn to put the angel on top!"
"Even though the tree is against the wall, it's still supposed to have ornaments on it!"

Mom reads paper on couch.
Dad's flight to Timbucktu left an hour ago.

Post-Kid Era--
The house breathes peacefully. No decorations in sight. Mom and Dad have gone to spend Christmas with the kids.

Christmas is a cozy, family time, no doubt. We enjoy being all together for our Hallmark holidays. And, when we can work it in, we do honor the Lord on this day that man has set aside for Him. We consume hours in grand cantata practice, devise intricate Christmas programs, even spend moments of quiet meditation reviewing appropriate Scriptures. Warm fuzzies abound, even as we fume in long lines at cash registers, rush to holiday practices, and prepare enough food to feed each participant of the entire Singing ChristmasTree. It's easy to sing (with profound emotion) songs like "What can I give Him, poor as I am..." When the turkey's in the oven and the tree is almost obliterated by a pile of presents the size of a snowman. But what if we were that poor? What if we didn't have food for the table, much less whipping cream for the pie? Or imagine ourselves in Mary and Joseph's surroundings at Jesus' birth? Would December 25th lose its glitter if we could no longer give or receive gifts? What happens on the 26th, or January 1st, when the credit card bill comes due, and we wish that the kids were back in school? Are you left with a let-down feeling, a bunch of gifts to return, and thank-you notes that nobody feels like writing? Why not push the wads of wrapping paper aside and find a quiet place to sit and reflect on Him. Christmas clichés vaporize when we ponder the true purpose of this special day.

Sing with Mary, as she praises her God in Luke 2:46,47,
"My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior."

This Christmas, let's see the manger, then look victoriously through the cross to the empty tomb!

How paltry here our vain attempts at mirth,
As we below do celebrate His birth.
How will we someday manage to portray
Our love for what He's done for us this way
Without our gaudy baubles, festive songs,
Our petty rituals, or our feasting long?
One day, our transient pleasures will seem dross;
We'll be at home--made victors by the cross.
Š MAJ

Š Ribtickler

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