Christmas. For
me, it used to be a series of memorable feelings. Feelings of reminiscence—every time I gazed at the little
red painted sleds hanging as ornaments on the Christmas tree with my name and
those of my siblings, painted there by a hand unknown to me but returning for
their annual debut on the freshly-cut evergreen. Feelings of nostalgia—whenever I heard “White Christmas”
playing in a local supermarket and wondered about the bygone days of its composition
when, as youths, my great uncle and grandfather had fought the Nazis
overseas. Feelings of
excitement--as my parents took shopping trips closer to the 25th and left us
with babysitters for the evening, I anticipated the presents that would greet
me under the tree on Christmas morning.
When Christmas day dawned, I expected happiness, delight,
and complete fulfillment. A
sibling uttered an unkind remark; but on Christmas, I didn’t retaliate. It was a day to be cherished,
remembered for many years to come.
If I believed in magic, I would say that the day, beginning the evening
before, was shrouded in a cloak of enchantment, a spell not to be broken by
any.
Holidays were always special times in our home, the
unwritten rules of generosity, kindness, and love sensed deeply by each of us
children. Awakening on Christmas
morning, I would feed the animals in the barn, reminded by my father to “give
the cows some extra bedding and a few more slabs of hay, since it’s Christmas.” Arriving back in my room, I’d often
take my Bible to read the Christmas passage in Luke 2 or Matthew 1, which I had
highlighted, every other verse in red and green. Later, our family would gather and read the Christmas story,
as a tradition, before opening gifts.
To me, Christmas was sacred.
If an argument or disagreement happened on another day, so
be it. But on Christmas? Woe be to him who breaks the holiday
spirit and enters into contentious territory on that day! To one and all, he is deemed an
unfeeling clod who understands not the joy Christmas.
However, when I married my husband, a steady, focused,
spiritually-minded man, I was amazed that holidays did not seem to hold the
special charm that they did for me; in fact, he was frequently employed at his
place of work on Thanksgiving and Christmas. His common view of these days, at first, bewildered me. Then, it disappointed me. Then it frustrated me. Then, I wrapped myself around its
reality and decided to accept it joyfully.
While I have never known my husband to wait for the holiday
spirit to descend upon him, he carries with him a joyful contentment all year
round, so that, in our place of residence, every day carries the “magic” of
Christmas that I so long cherished on that day each year. He has made our home a place of
singing, determined to offer God praise often (Psalm 146:2), so one would think
that every day was Thanksgiving Day.
He treats me specially so frequently that, to the unknowing observer,
one would think each of the 365 days was a time of celebration and
excitement.
As an adult, I see the materialism that has entrapped
Christmas in its common celebration in the public. And, less and less do I wait for a feeling to descend upon
me before I decorate for this season, prepare for its celebration, or shop for
Christmas gifts. For while
Christmas is always a special time with family and a season to reflect on
Christ’s birth, that magical spirit I always expected on holidays has been
replaced by another reality.
That I can walk with God, live in His presence, and be
accepted in the beloved every day is the incarnation’s actuality and the essence
of the Christmas spirit, which had only been a transitory feeling in the past,
stirred up by sentimental memory.
Growing up, I had frequently spent some time with God every morning. But when I married my husband, he
didn’t want me to miss a day that I didn’t read the Bible meaningfully and pray
sincerely in quiet. It was hard to
slow myself down enough to be still before God, but as I did, I noticed an
amazing relationship between my spirit and my time with God. The more time I spent abiding in God’s
presence, the more a daily joy accompanied me every day. That “magical” spirit that I had hoped
and dreamed for on special holidays could enfold me all the year through.
Through my husband’s godly leadership, I have learned that
the euphoric atmosphere of a joyous holiday lives on, not only once or twice a
year, but every day, by abiding in the presence of the King who came to earth
as a tiny infant that I might be “to the praise of the glory of His grace, wherein
He hath made [me] accepted in the beloved” (Eph. 1:6).
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