Ready for Christmas?

It's a question I hear every year. And I am not sure my answer is satisfactory, at least to me. But I say it anyway.

"Are you ready for Christmas?" .... I think people mean, "Have you gotten your Christmas shopping / baking / decorating done?" To that intention, I usually answer, "Almost," and I would be telling the truth.

Summer 2011 - all of the family

But part of me is never ready for Christmas. The part of me that remembers that it was Arielle's favourite holiday, the part that remembers how she'd fill her mouth to the bursting point with Christmas dinner and then try to talk (as a joke), the part that misses her and her quirks. That part of me is never ready.

All the preparation I do for the holiday seems bittersweet. It's not as bitter as it was when the loss was fresh, I'll admit that. But there is a certain wistfulness about it for me. I wish she could enjoy it with us, or that I could be aware of her enjoyment. For all I know, she IS with us every Christmas dinner - it happened once that I was aware of it - that first Christmas. That was SO special. I hug that memory to my heart often.

But people don't need me to bleed on them when they ask something that for them, is more like a "hello, how are ya?" kind of thing. So I say, "Almost," to their query about my 'readiness' for Christmas, and they can go on their merry way. Only those who know me best understand what my response means. I guess that means I have grown as a person ... the "old Judy" would have made them feel uncomfortable by being brutally honest and ruining an otherwise great day for them. I'm not like that anymore. People have a right to feel happy (or whatever they feel) even if I can't quite attain that level of joy myself. And here I go comparing happiness and joy - two totally different experiences. Happiness is usually (for me) dependent on circumstances, and joy speaks more of an inner peace in spite of circumstances.

And yes, I have joy. I can honestly say that as deep as the loss of losing Arielle is, it would have been a deeper loss never to have known her, never to have borne her. There was a time I couldn't get there because the loss hurt so much, but now - I think - I can honestly say that our lives are richer for having had her in them, even if her presence is only a memory now. And I do have the sure hope that one day, I will see her again - without the faults that made life with her less than perfect, that made us - and her - so frustrated. I look forward to building an eternity of experiences with that girl: the one we couldn't (and can't) help but love. Do I miss her? OH yes. Every day! And grief's shape has changed over the years to make space for me / us to honour her memory in little ways that would only matter to us.

So am I ready for Christmas?

Ummm, almost.  :)

Keeping Christmas

"And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us!" - A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

I know, I know. It's too soon to talk about Christmas for most of my readers. Notable exceptions exist of course (Anne, Stephanie, I'm talking to you wonderful ladies!)

I used the above quote because when people refer to someone as a Scrooge, they mean the miserly old skin-flint in the "before" picture and not of the "after." In the same way, a "Grinch" is a mean-spirited, selfish person who hates Christmas. Yet in the story by Dr. Seuss, "the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day" and he ended up being sweet and generous! 

Christmas 2014 - everyone gets in on the fun!

When I was a little kid, I heard stories of my dad waking my mom up at 3:30 a.m. just because it was Christmas. He couldn't wait to see our faces when we opened our presents, to see the wonder and hear the laughter of that day. It was his favorite day of the year. And he didn't get anything else out of the day. We had no money to give him a present. His joy, his Christmas spirit, came from giving to those who had no way to return the favor. 

What a wonderful feeling that is! I've had occasion - here and there - to experience that kind of excitement in anticipation of someone opening a gift that I have made or bought for them. It is truly magical. And it doesn't matter if it's for Christmas, or their birthday, or even "just because." I don't expect anything in return. It just blesses me to bits to be able to give to them something that they need or want - that they like - and that they will cherish and use. 

So, perhaps we can "keep Christmas" all year round. Wouldn't that be great? If everyone had that spirit of gratitude, generosity and goodwill all year, how much sweeter life would be! Folks would be much easier to get along with ... as long as there was no trace of obligation or duty involved ... and therefore, no mad rushing about in the stores, no impatience in parking lots, or any of that. 

How much fuller life would feel with that kind of attitude - to give is better than to receive - present not just at Christmas but every day? How it would transform each of us to find joy in giving to those who have no hope of ever paying us back (which isn't the point anyway)!! Hungry, homeless people, people with hardly two nickels (or tuppence) to rub together, could eat, be warm, and have their daily needs met through the generosity of those who love to give! 

Isn't that worth more than getting the latest gadget for ourselves? 
I'll leave that thought with you, as it has been burning in me. 

And happy Christmas to you!

Joy - Hope - Peace

Several years ago, a friend at work gave me three little brass-toned Christmas ornaments; each is a single word.  One says "Joy"; one says "Hope" and the third says "Peace."  I hang them up every year on my cubicle wall, among other decorations I have accumulated over the years.  

Two Christmases ago, scarcely two months after our youngest daughter passed away, it was hard to put up those decorations.  It was hard to do much of anything.  Another friend at work decided to honour our Arielle (after first checking it with me) by giving out snowflake ornaments to everyone who came to our unit Christmas luncheon.  Although I don't normally attend such functions, I did agree to go - and it was so meaningful.  Since that time, several people have told me that they put up their snowflake every Christmas and think of me and of Arielle's story.  That touches my heart.  Her story needs to be told, and remembered.

Arielle's favorite holiday was Christmas.  She loved the lights and the colours, she loved the tinsel and the carols, she loved the crowds of people, and she loved all the feasting and family traditions we had.  And yes, it doesn't get any easier to go through our family traditions without her.

Image "Festive Snowflakes" by
Victor Habbick at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I will say, though, that during the holidays, the presence of friends as dear as family does make a difference. It gives us a reason to carry on those traditions and still honour Arielle's memory without becoming too despondent.  She would never want that anyway.  She hated for people to be sad around her.

This year, for some reason (and I have my theories as to why), there was some of that old spark that I used to feel around this time of year - not an excitement, but more like a little inner pleasure as I prepared Christmas gifts and cards for those who are dear.  I find myself looking forward to baking my deep-dish pumpkin pie the night before, and cooking that Christmas supper meal I have planned ... sharing food, friendship, and fellowship with friends and family ... is that joy?  

I also find myself feeling somewhat rejuvenated, since simplifying my life and reducing the amount of stress I was experiencing, de-stressing over a period of the last seven months on a couple of different fronts - and with the reduction in stress and hectic-ness, comes the perspective of hope ... that quiet confidence that all is happening as it needs to happen ... and that the future will be better.  Part of me is amazed that this would be the case; after years of striving to experience hope, it should light upon me like a butterfly once I stopped striving.

What is surprising most of all is the sense of calm that surrounds me at such times; I have noticed it occasionally as I have looked after myself and refused to entertain any kind of performance anxiety.  I noticed it again tonight as I put the final decorating touches on the tree, and then leisurely tuned the television to the fireplace channel and listened to soft Christmas music playing - everything from the Nutcracker to Silent Night.  Yes ... yes, it is peace.

Pervading all of it is an underlying current - one that is growing stronger as time goes on - that growing knowledge that I am loved unconditionally.  It is that love which saturates down into the core of me, where all those insecurities mill around and wreak havoc.  As I am less and less exposed to people, places and things that feed those insecurities, I sense and accept more of that love, and it (in turn) produces joy ... and hope ... and peace.

The Annual Drive

Christmas Eve, and all that is left of the church service is the smell of smoking wick from several dozen candles, and murmurs from the little pockets of conversation as people leave the building. 

We pack up our things and load them in the vehicle, and drive home to unload them before piling into it again for the Annual Drive.

2013

Someone brings a Christmas CD. We put it in the player and take off to view the Christmas lights in and around our city. In some areas it seems that folks try to outdo each other to create jaw-dropping displays. Others are more quiet, understated, and yet hopeful ... a few electric candles in the window, the muted twinkling of the Christmas tree from inside the house, showing through the window. 

As the music plays, we join in the singing, each one putting in his or her part until we feel the stirring of that elusive Christmas spirit in our hearts. 

After about an hour or so, we head back and we have something hot to drink - a little cocoa usually, topped with marshmallow bits. We watch our own Christmas lights reflect and twinkle amid the decorations. We turn on some soft music (or we tune in to the Fireplace Channel) and we sip our warm drinks and enjoy each other's company. Later, we might watch a Christmas movie on TV before turning in for the night.

We have done this tradition for over 20 years. Last year, we did it with one less among us ... so we asked a close friend to join us. We felt free to feel what we felt, no matter what that was. And we will again this year. 

This year, we don't have the luxury that the initial numbness (shock) of the loss brought. Its cold, harsh reality seems to dare us to plunge into the abyss. But a big part of Christmas is about never needing to be alone again. So, we reach out to others, and we share what we have. And though it feels ... different ... we can still be grateful, still know peace, still laugh and enjoy quality time together. Not just this night, but any night we want to. 

Because we're family. Because we love each other. Just because.

Change is Good

Over the last few days - as I've found the time and as I've been able to stay focused - the face of "Get Unwrapped!" has been changing. Maybe you've noticed - maybe not.

You might have remarked that I use fewer photos - and that those I include are actually mine!

As I've come to understand the potentially expensive rules surrounding blogging and in particular, copyright laws, I'm revamping all my archived older posts to limit or eliminate the use of images obtained from the Internet, especially from such places as flickr and Google Images, and some of these will eventually be replaced with my own photos ... or diagrams ... or with nothing at all. Many of my "page hits" have been from people looking for photos of this or that - so I'm trying to let my traffic be more about "content" than about window dressing. 

Of course the dog had to get in on this shot. ;)

Accordingly, I've been monitoring my page hits since I started eliminating borrowed (i.e., stolen [ouch]) images - just to confirm that this is why people have been stopping by - and it appears to be so. 

It's all good. I'm okay with that. Numbers never really mattered to me anyway, and I'd rather have people be attracted to WHAT I'm saying rather than the bells and whistles I put out there. Plus, I don't want to break any laws!!

I'm constantly learning. After blogging for over 2.5 years, I feel like I'm only just starting to come into my own.  I've built a network of blogger friends, and the consistent writing has been a way for me to continue to grow as a person. 

I want to thank you, my faithful readers, for continuing to read, to "like" or "Plus One" - and to make comments here (which is what I prefer of course) or on Facebook or on Google Plus. If you haven't already done so, I encourage to make your "following" official.  

Following is easy! If you want to follow my blog ...

1. Hover your mouse over the right margin of this page, and some gray tabs will pop out - 
2. Slide your mouse pointer over the one that looks like three dots over an island (that's people) ... and a tab will pop out that says "Followers" - and
3. Click on the word "Followers" on that tab, and you'll see where you can become a follower - just click on the "Join this Site" button, and fill in the blanks. 

It's that simple. 

The preceding has been a shameless plug for this blog. (hee hee)

Seriously though, as I've been going through my archives, it's been surprising how much I write about change - about growth, about healing, about honesty and vulnerability, about letting go, and about moving on - and I guess there is a "sameness" to my writing in that regard. I revisit the same topics from different angles, over and over again. I write about these things because I need to write about them... they're part of who I am, what I'm about. And I hope that in doing so, I might have spurred a little thought about what they mean to you as well. 

Finally, my readers, I want to wish you the happiest, holiest, huggy-est and most honest Christmas ever. I can't promise I won't write again before Christmas Day - but just in case I don't - this is me wishing you all the best memories you can possibly make with all those who are dearest to you.

Always.

Silent Vigil

She has seen every Christmas morning in our house since the children were bouncing squiggles of excitement. 

She's watched our family and listened as we have lived our lives up to and following the Big Day - seen how we struggle to keep peace between ourselves, seen how we cope with upsets and setbacks, and endured our choice of TV programming. (After all, how many times can one watch "The Grinch that Stole Christmas"?)

Christmas 2012 treetopper - taken today

She is our Christmas angel tree-topper. Year after year she has presided over the good and the not-so-good. Constant and true, she has held her two lights up high for all who would look. Regardless of the quality of our decorating, she has provided the graceful piece de resistance, covering a multitude of patently untalented decorators' sins. 

Robed in colors of gold and crimson and white, she is a continual reminder of the original Reason for the Season... an object lesson of the constancy and the ever-watchful, ever-loving eye of the One whose birth we choose to celebrate at this time of year. Even when circumstances don't seem particularly joyful. Or joyful at all.

She was there the day that - because of a poorly balanced tree - our eldest bore the brunt of the imbalance and the tree fell on top of her. We were grateful our little girl was not hurt! Ever afterward, we took special care to completely balance the tree so that it was perfectly upright. 

She was there, keeping silent vigil, as our feeble gifts to one another ... in rich times and in poor ... reminded us that we were loved much, that there were people in this world who believed in us, who supported us and our dreams, who suffered with us as we grieved the physical absence of those greatly loved ones no longer among us. 

She listened every Christmas morning to each of us as we took a turn reading the Christmas story, transported back to the hills and caves around Bethlehem right along with us, and she heard us sing Happy Birthday Jesus as a family (a song that still brings tears to my eyes and a catch in my voice) ... right before opening our gifts. She has been witness to the oohs and ahs of surprise and wonder - and to our frantic scramble to dispose of the wrappings after all was said and done, the smells of cooking turkey, and the laughter and "happy tears" of friends and family as we shared each other's company. 

Tragedies and triumphs, joys and regrets, love expressed, memories made. She's seen it all for the last twenty-odd years. 

If she could talk... I wonder what she'd say.

After the miracle comes

In my last blog post, I talked about my friend whose faith through a trial has been tenacious. Of course, the amazing happened in her life and God really showed Himself strong in her situation when all seemed hopeless. Here is an account of her miracle, and a few comments on it. 

And now that she has received her impossible dream-come-true, like Henny Penny from the fairy tale by Andersen, she looked around and found that nobody from the circle of friends she expected has lifted a finger to help her rid herself of the vestiges of her old life and get started in a new one. A new group of friends pitched in their time and resources to help her. But as she sat across our supper table from me last evening, she shook her head and said, "Nobody from [XXXXX] even showed up." 

I tried to make excuses for the group she mentioned, but it was tough, you know? Everyone makes time for what is important to him/ her. 

Snowflakes - miracles in themselves

Yet ... this time has been great for her to strengthen friendships with those who really do care about her and about her happiness and who show it. I've had priceless opportunities to put "skin" on my platitudes and actually roll up my sleeves and invest a little "sweat equity" into the relationship. 

Am I stiff and sore this morning? Oh yeah. Do I regret digging deep into two of my most precious commodities - time and energy - to help her? 

Absolutely not. In fact, I've been encouraged by her excitement, even challenged by her getting into the "Christmas spirit" (something I haven't felt for years, except in fleeting moments, nothing sustained) and wanting to decorate her place for the holidays. Everything feels so fresh and new, and her gratitude for God's goodness is tangible. 

It is wonderful that so many have had the blessing of praying for her and being able to take part - in some small way - in what God did for her. But it would have been nice to not have left the other, more practical things, for others to do. 

There are a lot of ads on TV these days about child sponsorship and giving a goat to a family half-way around the world. But what about the person who lives in our city, goes to our church perhaps, who is living below the poverty line and who struggles to make ends meet? who has to choose between food and electricity? What about the homeless in our own back yard? What about "at-risk" families in our province or state who don't have enough money to buy Christmas presents or school supplies or shoes for their kids? 

I'm talking to me, too. Ouch!

I know of some families who have given up on buying each other gifts for Christmas and who donate their time at the soup kitchen, or who donate the money they would have spent on Christmas shopping ... to turkey drives or the food bank. Thinking "outside the boxes" beneath the tree might do a lot of good for people who need help; it would also let them know that someone cares for them in a way that surpasses platitudes. And the thing about giving in that way is: it not only meets a need in someone's liife, but it helps the one who gives ... in ways that can't be measured. 

It might even spark some Christmas spirit. 

Bah humbug - really?

What's the first thing you think of when I say the name, "Scrooge"? 

I'll bet it isn't the 'after' picture.  It's probably the 'before' picture. Which is weird because it's the story of how someone changed from the before to the after. You'd think the after picture would be the one that stuck.  Hm. I think that the "after" picture was the one Dickens originally wanted to leave with people.

My all-time favorite film rendition of his famous short story, "A Christmas Carol"  is the one which stars Patrick Stewart, produced in 1999. Mr. Stewart did a far better job of projecting the inner anguish of the man - and the inevitable gratitude and joy - than anyone I've ever seen portray the character.  

Image found through Google at :
http://southernchristmascarol.blogspot.com/2009/01/
fred-nephew-good-ol-boy.html

Although I love the "after" picture that Dickens paints of his famous character, I still hesitate to call anyone "Scrooge."  It conjures up - for most people - a mean-spiritedness that overshadows and poisons interactions with others in a way that frustrates even the best efforts to include the person.  Yet the story of Scrooge delves into the reasons for his sour disposition.  Life had not been kind to him so he was not kind in return.

I must admit that a lot of the time I tend to avoid all the interactions and festivities that go on at this time of year, and I'm sure that some people think that I'm a "Scrooge".  In some ways I guess I am.  I'm not sure if it has to do with my own introverted nature (probably a lot of it right there) or just that I've seen so much that goes on in the name of "Christmas spirit" which - to me - just isn't.  

Loneliness dogs my steps at this time of year, something like a hungry wolf who isn't just satisfied with the rodents he finds along the trail but is after bigger game: me.  Sometimes I wonder why I even go to the trouble of decorating and going to social functions.  If I go, I feel out of place, excluded.  I probably am not, but that's my perception. Even in a crowd, I can relate a lot to the child Scrooge, being left behind when his school mates were off to spend Christmas break with their families - feeling like he didn't have anywhere he felt accepted.  Many times I've felt like that.  Sometimes I've even wanted to check out.  Especially when I have been reminded of just how alone I am, how people just tolerate me and don't "get" me at all.  

It is a short step from that perception of non-acceptance, that feeling of utter misery, to putting a hard crust over my heart and not letting anyone in ... so as to avoid being more hurt.  Probably I have already done that in some ways. 

Some days are better than others.  I'm up, I'm optimistic, I'm ready to face the world.  Life is good.

Some days, however, it takes all I have just to get out of bed and face the great gaping black hole of not fitting in anywhere.  I feel that I don't fit in at work - there I'm "too religious." Or just "too weird."  I don't fit in at church because there, I'm not "religious enough." Or just "too weird."  On such days, I cling by my fingernails to the slogan, 'one day at a time' because if I think about the abyss of endless days looming in front of me, I could easily fall into it and lose myself in despair.  

At such times, the festivities and the usual chit-chat only serve to highlight for me how "apart" I feel.  And I can fully understand why the highest rates of suicides are at Christmas-time. The crowded streets, the even more crowded stores, and all the talk about family get-togethers and parties and so forth, all serve to heighten my misery.  There's nothing wrong with parties, family get-togethers, and all the festivities this season has to offer.  It's just that when a person doesn't feel accepted or appreciated, maybe not even loved, the last thing he or she wants to attend is another social function that highlights how excluded he or she feels.  It doesn't mean that the person is anti-social or that he or she hates Christmas.  I happen to like Christmas - just not all the frenetic activity surrounding it (or any other family-oriented holiday going), the pushing people around in stores (jostling elbows and people saying "excuse me" all the time - which, after the 100th time I've heard it, sounds more like "move your fat rear" than "I need to get past you.")  That, combined with the social expectations, the family obligations, and so forth, tend to make me want to do my Christmas shopping online and vastly limit my social and family obligations.  Most folks call that a clear-cut case of 'bah humbug.'  .... I kind of don't. 

I prefer, instead, to rid myself of what drives me crazy about all the crowds and so forth, to dissociate myself from the idea - however accepted it may be - of reciprocity (you give me something so now, I'm obligated to give you something) and of one-upmanship (Aunt Sue had us to her place last year and she had a sumptuous feast; we have to outdo her this year at our place), and instead take a trip in my mind to a dripping cave in a hillside in Middle-Eastern springtime to visit a little baby.  His mom has wrapped him tightly in strips of cloth like a mummy is wrapped, and placed him into a hollowed out rock (nothing wooden in that place except perhaps the pitchfork to toss hay into the rock manger).  That humble scene brings home to me the wonder of the distance God traveled in order to become one of us - all for love.  Not that we loved Him, or that we even COULD - but that He loved us first.

When I focus on that  -  I remember that there is definitely something worthwhile to celebrate.