Why you hate Christmas

                                                                                 All is calm,

All is bright.

I should say not.  Not in the slightest.  There's nothing about Christmas that is calm and bright.  Well, maybe bright in a few places, but most certainly not calm.  That's why secretly you don't like Christmas.  You think it's supposed to be all silent night and calm and bright and peace on earth and mercy mild.  No wonder you don't like it.  You eat more than you should.  You have to hang out with people you may or may not like.  You have to show up to work Christmas parties that have the potential to be awkward and boring.  You probably have to clean your house.  Traffic is crazy because everyone's Aunt Mathilda from Milwaukee is in town and lost on the freeway.  Your neighbor has better Christmas lights.  Your neighbor's kid is getting the Gismopieceofcrap 2500 and your kid is only getting the 2450.  You have to decide with your significant whoever whose family you're spending time with when, and who you'll offend if you don't. 

On top of all that, you've got all this Christmas music trying to convince you it's the most wonderful time of the year and that your life should be calm and bright, not to mention in order.  Everyone should be getting along and enjoy spending time together.  You should have a beautiful Christmas photo and letter that you send out to your 200 closest friends heralding all your accomplishments this year.  You should be holly and jolly - whatever that means. 

All this is about the Baby, right, the one born in a manger, which really wasn't a feed trough and laid on hay that was fresh and practically sterilized.  He was lulled to sleep by angels' songs, greeted by jolly, grandfathery shepherds and thrown a baby shower by wise men who were there the night he was born. 

Ha. 

Well, I have some good news, and some bad news.  The bad news is, if you celebrate that kind of Christmas, you will probably do your best to convince yourself it's not a miserable holiday, and you just might succeed.  You might do such a good job of tricking yourself that you just love the holiday stress  bustle and spending more money than you have gift giving that you just have yourself a miserable little Christmas every year.  That is bad news, indeed.

The good news is, the real Christmas is a great deal less calm, peaceful and most wonderful time of the yearish.  In fact, aside from the fact that the Messiah was coming, it was really quite a mess. 

Four hundred years of silence between God and His people. 

An oppressive Roman rule.

A (probably teenage) mom who wasn't married yet, but claimed that she hadn't slept with her fiancee, that the child was really the Son of God because an angel told her so.

The condemnation of a whole town, not just on her, but on all the people she loved (talk about starting off on the wrong foot with the inlaws). 

Lots of traffic on the roads because of the Roman decree to be registered.

All the inns are booked, sorry, there's a barn/cave/nasty hole out back, sleep in that.

Giving birth to a baby without sisters or a mother or probably even a midwife, just a carpenter husband and a donkey or two.

Dirty, smelly, redneck shepherds scared out of their socks by a "heavenly host" (a whole flipping lot of supernatural warrior dudes - not girly angels with folded hands and long, flowy hair) telling them to go to Bethlehem because after 400 agonizing years, God has literally broken the silence with the Word, Immanuel, God with us.

A bunch of redneck shepherds showing up to the delivery room/barn/cave/nasty hole asking a lot of questions and probably making a lot of ruckus, and adding to it by exuberantly shushing each other.

A bunch of some of the best storytellers scrambling through hill and dale to spread the greatest story ever told.

More questions than answers about how this tiny, hungry God/baby was supposed to be the Savior of the world.

That's the real Christmas.  God showing up to carry out a rescue that the best tactical operations team couldn't have dreamed up.  Instead of just speaking from heaven and commanding everyone's obedience, let's send someone in.  Not an angel, let's send Jesus.  No, We won't send Him on a flaming chariot coming in from the sky, we'll have Him start from scratch, as a baby.  Let's have Him be born to someone who isn't married yet so they don't think He's just a normal kid.  We'll arrange it so everyone's welcome.  There will be shepherds and kings (but they'll come later) and grownups and kids.  He won't be what they're expecting.  What they want is someone to save them from the Romans, someone to show up and lead a rebellion.  What I'm going to do is save them from their brokenness, save them from the inside out. 

Now that's a Merry Christmas.

May your days be full of real Christmas, and may all your Christmases be a color appropriate for the climate in which you live,

Little Miss Sunshine

The Man with the Fatal Flaw

SG: Well, how did your Christmas break goal go? 

Me: BAH. Epic fail.  I didn't find a husband. 

SG: Whoa.  Uh, I'm not going to respond to that.   

I am about to tell a story on myself.  Isn't that the definition of a writer?  Someone who tells stories, sometimes at the expense of themselves (or is that a comedienne?).  I would refrain because I may come across in a less than sparkling light, but I'm not really one to refrain from things, unless they involve olives.  I often find myself refraining from olives.  If you think I should have refrained, you are free to say so, as long as you tell me why.

I didn't set a New Year's resolution, but I did make a Christmas Break resolution: find a boyfriend.  You may laugh, but I was serious, sort of.  I didn't exactly expect to be successful, but figured it wouldn't hurt to make one such goal.  After all, I conjectured, I had two weddings, a couple holiday-ish parties and some Sundays at church. 

I was skeptical of the first wedding because the bride and groom were, um, probably in the top .001% of smart people in America.  Those kinds of people are not always known for their good looks and charm, but these two broke the mold.  Lo and behold, the groom had a brother who was not a shame to look at.  I would give him a general TDH classification (tall, dark and handsome).  This could be him.  He gave a superior best man speech, complete with sincere tears.  There was a dance floor.  I was dancing.  His brother, the groom, was a good dancer, so there was a high probability that Mr. Best Man had some family talent as well.  I waited and I waited and I wore my fabulous leopard dress and I smiled and you know what happened?  Nothing.  A big fat nothing.  I surmised that he had a girlfriend.  Jordy kindly suggested, in a sweet, maligning way that he probably had several.  

The parties were no better.  There was a slight prospect at one, but we were never introduced, so that was a flop.  I know we don't live in Victorian England, but as outgoing as I am, I still own reluctances about sidling up to boys and introducing myself.  The events were dwindling.  The second wedding was smaller than the first, and that particular best man, though one of the most charming men I have ever met, probably would not be attracted to a girl who climbed rocks and trees. 

Then I met him.  *Wistful sigh.*  Oh reader, let me tell you.  He was a dreamboat.  According to Merriam-Webster, that means he was "highly desirable or a very attractive person".  We met through mutual friends at an… event.  (Here's where telling stories on yourself gets tricky sticky.)  He was kind and good looking and let's just say, hypothetically, if he really wanted to lift a small car, he probably could.  He seemed sweet and easy going, easy to talk to, all of that. 

Enter the fatal flaw.  I'm not talking about a silly fatal flaw that's not really a fatal flaw like he has a crooked nose or he bites his nails or something.  Fatal flaws are seeeeerious.  This one isn't insurmountable, like he hates learning (a teacher's deal breaker) or he's dead.  I was trying to think of insurmountable fatal flaws, but that doesn't even make sense because you can't date dead people because that's WEIRD. 

The most ludicrous part of this whole thing is I don't really know him as a person.  I know things about him that I like, but it's not like we sat down and talked for an hour at this...event.  The other most ludicrous (I know, there should only be one superlative because that's what makes it a superlative) part of it is that I understand that, but I'm still hoping the fatal flaw will be overcome and he will sweep me off my happy feet when I get home in July.  Does he know any of this?  Of course not.  Will I absolutely die a slow death of mortification if you tell him?  Yes, reader, I will.  I hope we have an understanding.  You probably don't know him anyway.

I'm not too surprised this was a failed Christmas goal.  That's not to say I didn't spend time with scores of fabulous, upstanding gentlemen, but none of them were crazy enough to ask me out while I was home for a month.  And that's OK.  I think I keep expecting to see a man in the airport or out running or walking across the church campus that has "Sunshine's Man" written across his forehead.  That I'll just know, it'll be instant spark and playing catch and intellectual conversations and of course dancing.  Maybe that's unrealistic?  I haven't heard too many love stories that started with "he had my name emblazoned on his forehead, so I just knew".  Actually, I can't think of any that started that way. 

Undaunted, and as sappy of a romantic as ever,

Little Miss Sunshine

Hurrah for December 26 and April 14 and September 2!

Over on my right is our living room fireplace.  The idea of having a fireplace in Arizona is a little silly, but it's there and that's where Mom hung all our Christmas cards this year.  They say things like "Joy, Peace, Love"; "Celebrating Faith, Family, Friends" and "Joy to the World".  I would say those are things that we shouldn't tie down to one day.  What if we did that to other things?

     Well, tomatoes are really great, but let's only eat them one day of the year.  

    I love being married to you, so let's make our marriage super special and only go on dates one day out of

   365.

    My job is meaningful and gives me a chance to change the world, but I only work 1 day a year so it doesn't

    get old.  

That's a lot of crap and you know it.  I realize that for the sake of Hallmark, we have to organize our holidays around calendar days.  You can't sell cards for Valentines Day if you don't squish your celebration of love into a day.  Well, retail world, that's fine.  You make your cute Christmas wreaths and nasty chalk Valentines candy and Easter peeps.  But you've sorely underestimated me if you think I'm going to be able to stuff all of my Christmas excitement into one little day, or even a month-long season.  

Those big things on the Christmas cards - faith, family, friends, joy, peace, love - they exist because of a truth.  The baby born in a manger was the savior that made "God and sinner, reconciled" possible.  That baby wasn't born so we could have a nice looking manger scene or so people could write songs about cows and angels.  Christmas happened to make Easter possible.  Thirty some years later, that baby traded the splinters of a cow trough for the splinters of a cross.  That "God and sinner, reconciled" thing?  That means that there's hope for the mess we made.  It means that Christmas and Easter are inseparable and their importance is paramount. 

The scale of that hope is a reason to celebrate on December 25... and Easter, and January 5, and April 10, and whatever other day you happen to be alive.  That churchy word - gospel, or "good news" is talking about what happened at Christmas and Easter and the years in between.  The good news is that Jesus came, lived, died, and came to life again.  He kicked sin and death in the face and gave us a way to have a relationship with God again.

I think singing "Oh come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant" and "Christ the Lord is risen today aaaaaaalleluia" are things we should be singing, humming, whistling, and celebrating whether it's 4:15 on a Monday in June or 7:00 on Christmas morning.  Give gifts!  Get together!  Make fudge!  Christmas is too good to be confined.  

Celebrating Christmas today and every day,

Little Miss Sunshine

Merry Stressmas!

Christmas should be all kinds of things.  It should be merry and bright.  It should be full of decking halls and silver bells and sleigh rides.  The other day, however, it was full of being mad.  I just wanted to buy the right present.  I wanted something that would say I love you and I value you and if you asked me to dig a ditch to China, I would, just for you.  Unfortunately, there aren't presents that come with that on the tag.  

Mostly, the problem was I forgot my shopping mantra... "I will be decisive, I will be successful".  So there I was, wandering around Target, searching for that perfect something that would accomplish Christmas magic.  I wavered, I vacillated, I failed.  Thankfully, I ran into my mother and she told me to just go home and try again the next day.  So I quit and went home, leaving the battlefield for another day.  I was mad.  I wanted the right present!  I wanted it to say the right thing!  I wanted to be done Christmas shopping in October like a good, organized firstborn.  

Today was a different story.  I came equipped with my secret weapon.  Forget Woad Raiders (yes, Age of Empires reference), I had a Goad Raider, who happened to be my dad.  Dad doesn't adhere to the shopping mantra verbally because it's so internalized.  Decisive, successful - the goad for any girl with shopping troubles.  

My Goad Raider and I arrived at the mall after a great lunch at a little BBQ dive.  Cars snaked sluggishly into the mall in long lines.  We lamented everyone else's belated shopping excursions, knowing that we were the ones to blame.  People were rushing here and there, picking up last minute presents. 

Let me tell you, this battle was over almost before it began.  {Sidenote: I just saw a commercial for Wendy's double cheeseburger... gross.}  I was making good decisions all over the place.  I was on fire.  Why can't every shopping excursion be like that?  

One thing I've noticed about Christmas as I've gotten older is Christmas can be the most stressful time of the year.  Families are trying to coordinate and share time together, and we know families aren't perfect.  Aunt Rita's taste in Christmas sweaters is a little... gaudy, and your cousin Antoine hasn't developed a sense for when jokes are OVER.  So yeah, that's stressful.  Then there's the budget.  We know finances can be one of the biggest stressors in life, and Christmas can be expensive.  You have people in your life that you want to buy the moon for, and people in your life that you are obligated to at least buy a moon rock for.  Chocolate bark buying and ham buying and that new wreath for the living room can quickly get out of hand.  

Suddenly, Christmas goes from holly jolly to as much fun as a paper cut.  Don't be that guy or girl.  Don't you let that happen to you!  There is too much light, too much hope, too much magic to enjoy.  Believe me, you don't have time to get stressed about whether to put pecans in the cranberry salad.  Uncle Herb's allergic to nuts, remember?  Leave them out.  And trying to squeeze in that last Christmas party?  Skip it.  Catch up with those people in April, when you can sit on the patio and enjoy each other's company over a strawberry mint iced tea.  Don't bust the budget.  Write a letter that says you love them and would dig that ditch to China.  Keep Christmas merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white. 

Much love,

LMS