My Christmas Story: Coming Full Circle
I am happy to say that Christmas has come full circle for me. I had a sort of history with Christmas that turned it into a difficult holiday for many years. It didn’t start out that way though. As a little girl, it was my favorite time of year. I mean, who doesn’t like getting presents? …or treats, or time away from school, or boisterous family gatherings with relatives who love to dote? Yes, it was a very nice time of year until right about my junior year of high school.
Let’s be honest, it’s an awkward phase in general. That was the first year my parents suddenly could not afford to buy anything for Christmas. My dad was unemployed, and my mom was in the middle of a nervous breakdown that lasted the next fifteen years. The fact that the holiday still happened was a cruel reminder of the consuming poverty and hopelessness that pervaded my family’s atmosphere. It was a symbol of the difference between my old family and my new family. My old life and my new life. The rest of my peers and me.
One day my mom took my siblings and I to meet with a kind person from our community who had offered to help us with Christmas. To my shock it was the mother of a friend who I used to be close to. She was offering us their second hand toys for our Christmas. It was thoughtful and sweet, but difficult for me.
Then I got married. A year in he had an affair with someone from our church. I was crushed. That was the first Christmas I spent alone. My parents had divorced the year prior. My dad had remarried and then promptly estranged himself from our entire family. There was simply nowhere to go. A friend let me stay at her house while she and her husband traveled out of town. She left presents wrapped for me. It was so sweet. I woke up that morning and sobbed. Then I opened the gifts. If there is anything I regret about that day, it’s that I was too wounded to properly appreciate the kindness of a friend who would wrap an extra seven gifts so I would have something to do Christmas morning.
Interesting fact, I am not allergic to anything other than a Christmas tree. It’s true. One day when I was little my brother and I had the time of our lives swinging on an old ivy vine all day. The next day he was covered head to toe with an allergic reaction to poison ivy. I got off scot-free. But for some reason, after that first Christmas alone, I am allergic to Christmas trees! Even being near a real tree will put my body on high alert. I can feel it across the room. Like my body is trying to keep me from Christmas.
Then… I had children and the holiday became about them. I loved seeing their looks of delight Christmas morning. And dressing them up fancy for church. And feeding them good food and too much food. I loved creating a Christmas scene to take their photos in and giving them presents. But even in that there was something I didn’t realize was missing.
Time doesn’t heal all wounds, but it sure goes a long way. This year Christmas has been so different. I am not sure how… or why…. but I am enjoying Christmas for me. I suddenly find myself delighted in the lights and the holiday bustle. And for the first time in my adult life, that hopeful feeling that’s in the air doesn’t make me feel like an outsider.
I’ve noticed something really special about Christmas celebrating. The way we pull out the gaudiest decorations possible announcing our excitement; lighting up our lawns in 40 watt splendor. There’s nothing subtle about Christmas. All this garishness has suddenly struck me as a bit vulnerable. We put our love for this season on display and share in that delight with one another and any time we put our feelings on display there is risk involved. Taking that risk is beautiful.
It reminds me that God stepped out of the protective glory of Heaven and gently presented us with His very best. Without losing any of His sovereignty or holiness He delightedly showed us how He felt in the most vulnerable way possible. He took the risk of being misunderstood and rejected at tremendous cost and it was beautiful.
Christmas reminds me of how important it is to be true to yourself and kind to others. To step beyond our comfort level and express our joy. There is beauty in our boldness when we take the risk of showing our authentic selves. If my story resonates with you, then I am sorry. Winston Churchill said “If you’re going through hell, keep going!” He was right. Don’t get stuck. Keep trying. Please don’t give up the soft beauty of your true self for a hardened exterior. Be courageous and vulnerable. It will pay off in the end.
Merry Christmas!
