It Really Is the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Melodies and harmonies softly meld while a dancing candle flame emits the smells of evergreen by the soft glow of the Christmas tree.  The fireplace crackles and warms from the cold December air while the aroma of a peppermint mocha (grande, non-fat, no whip…well maybe just a little whip…and chocolate peppermint curls) invades my senses.  As I sip on the warmth in my cup, I absorb these brief beautiful moments of Christmastime.  Reminiscing on Christmases past, retrieving feelings of both excitement and laughter, but also sorrow and tears.  Christmas is full of so many memories for me and the passing of time, but reminds me of the hope to come.  Today, although this Christmas season has been a good one for me, I was reminded recently that every Christmas has not always been that way.  Many Christmases have been difficult or challenging for differing reasons.  Those of you who are going through a season that does not feel like this Christmastime is the most wonderful time of the year or of ever - to you I write this blog.  This blog is my story of how, regardless of what happens, Christmastime remains the most wonderful time of year.

How we remember things are not always how they happened, keep that in mind as I tell this Christmas tale.  Eye witness testimony is terribly flawed, especially when it comes to our memories.  The events retold here are as I remember them, one perspective from one girl, who may or may not remember as accurately as she would like.  As a child, of course, Christmas was bomb.  Most of the children I knew lived for Christmas’ existence.  So much excitement and so much build up went into Christmas.  It was largely about presents as a child, yes, I will be honest about that.  It was not even always about certain presents necessarily, it was just presents in general!  Mind you, there were some items that I really wanted and I did end up getting on Christmas morning, like a Cabbage Patch Kid and a Care Bear (the one with the red heart on their chest of course).  My parents still have a bit of post traumatic 80’s toy store trauma from trying to acquire all the hyped toys of whatever given year for all five of their children.  We were not rich by the way, I have no idea how my parents were able to get so many gifts for their children.  I would just like to say I did NOT get a Teddy Ruxpin, which is probably best because that was back in the cassette tape days, which as you know were fairly short lived.  Plus it was a talking stuffed animal, which is a little too close to a talking doll.  Talking dolls do, in fact, freak me out.  My parents kept me well stocked with non-talking dolls on Christmas.  My girls Barbie, She-Ra and Jem, who I loved immensely, were Christmas morning staples.  At that point, I still believed that Santa might actually exist and I did try to catch his behind a couple times, but to no avail.  Eventually I owned up and finally gave my parents the credit for all the Christmas swag of my childhood.

When I was in grade school I got introduced to something that, as an adult, I now know to be a constant reality of being employed in corporate America.  My father got laid off from his job after 17 years working for the company he had been a part of for almost his entire adult life.  I was probably seven or eight years old when he was laid off, I did not understand exactly what was happening.  What I did understand, was that things were changing and my dad needed to find another job.  I remember that I overheard my parents talking about money, which I guess I had never really heard them talk about before or if I had, I had never paid attention before that moment.  That conversation is my first real memory of being worried about money, which unfortunately ended up being a pattern throughout my life for an array of reasons.  Sometime after my dad was laid off my parents were notified that they were being audited by the IRS.  I did not know what the IRS was until then and I definitely had no idea what an audit was, but I knew that my parents were stressed.  Even though we were not rich, my dad did make enough money to support his wife and five children, which I find impressive.  Later that year, when Christmas rolled around, my dad mentioned that Christmas was going to be a little lean.  I do not think I was too worried because as I said, I was pretty sure Santa had it covered.  Then it occurred to me after thinking about it for a little while that maybe Santa was not the one who had been bringing all those toys after all.  After that, I think I cared less about what gifts I was getting and I became more just grateful to get anything at all.  Was I still a brat kid who asked for pages of gifts on her Christmas list?  Yes.  Yet, I remember a distinct shift in the way I correlated money in relation to gifts and it changed me.

We always had a roof over our head, food to eat and clothes on our back.  As I got older, I realized that all three of those things could have been taken away from us at any moment.  As I got older, I understood that between a layoff, an audit from the IRS, a second mortgage on the house, going on food stamps, mom going to work after being a stay at home mom and my dad working retail while he looked for full time stable work to support a family could have all equated to a loss of basic needs.  Still and all, we never lost housing, we were never truly hungry and had coats every winter.  Why did we never get to the point where we were destitute?  The odds could have gone that way.  We lived in the same lower income neighborhood we always had, so these sorts of things were a reality for a lot of my friends and their families.  I do not know exactly why we did not get to the point of losing those basic needs while others we knew in similar situations did.  I do know that am so very grateful that we did not have that type of devastation.  I suppose it helped that during that time frame, the three oldest children my parents had moved out of the house, so it went from a house of seven people to care for to a house of four.  Regardless of what the outcome was or what the outcome would have been, I had no doubt then, as I do now that God would provide for us.

O…k!  So when exactly is the most wonderful time of year coming in this story?!  Pretty sure this story is bringing us all down Holly!!!  Got it guys, it is kind of like one of those bad Lifetime Christmas movies that you thought was going to make you happy and then just brings you back to the harsh realities of life (Side bar - yes I watch them, but can we all just all admit that Lifetime Christmas movies are bad).  Sorry guys, you know I am a rollercoaster of emotions all the time.  Take this moment and just remember the Care Bear with the red heart on its chest!!!  See, now you feel happy again – you are welcome!  Funny you should mention that bear because I kept him for a very long time, definitely into my teenage years.  He looked a little rough by the end there, but he saw me through a lot and he was a good reminder of the timeline of my childhood Christmases.  Not exactly sure when that bear gasped his last before the trash compactor took him to teddy bear ever after, but it was in my teenage years for sure.  Around the same time in my teenage years, after all my parents had gone through (there is much more that I have not mentioned just for the sake of the story, sake of time and out of respect for my parents and family), something else happened.  We had always gone to church growing up, but my dad never came with us.  So my mom and their five children would go, but my dad would not come along.  Well actually, let me be more accurate, my dad would come on Christmas, Easter and maybe occasionally when we sang in the children’s choir once or twice a year.  The only actual memory I have of my dad in church as a child was on Christmas morning one year.  I remember because I was allowed to bring my stuffed Miss Piggy with me.  She had on a red Santa coat with a white fur trimmed hood, very Miss Piggy chic, it was a Christmas gift from that morning.  Vividly I remember that gift, but I also vividly remember my dad in church on Christmas - it was a good memory.

We ended up leaving the church that I grew up in when I was in junior high and I was pissed.  I did not like change back then, I am still not a huge fan - I just deal with it a little better than I did as a preteen.  Praise for growth!  I was mad because I only had one girl in my Sunday school class and we were friends.  So I had to leave my one friend at church.  Then I was salty because I would not get to go through confirmation like my sisters and my older brother did.  My younger brother and I were just getting pulled out prematurely or so I thought.  I was mad that we were leaving because my dad did not even go to church and it was him and my mom that made the decision to leave.  Well, after trying a few different churches and me being a royal pain in the behind preteen (who threw many tantrums about the transition in case you were wondering), my parents finally settled on a church.  I hated it.  Sorry, not sorry, I hated it.  I hated the new church.  I dug my heels in hard.  My whole life I loved to sing, I was dramatic and loved the arts.  At the new church though, I refused to sing for a very long time, which was very out of character.  I was angry for the first year or two we went there.  Even in Sunday school, I had zero desire to get to know any of the other kids and really did not even want to participate.  The new church was also in a wealthier neighborhood, so I had some issues about that and I just did not want anything to do with it.  Yet I went, because I was still a minor for quite a few more years and church was not optional in our house growing up.  The only thing that I did like about the new church was that my dad was going with us, he went every single time.

One day after being at the new church for a while, the pastor was preaching a sermon that was nothing necessarily new for me.  Growing up in church, as a child, you do not necessarily listen during the sermon.  However, what you do end up hearing sounds more or less the same.  I was at the age though where I would kind listen from time to time in between doodling and sketching the cross at the front of the sanctuary.  Something the pastor said in regards to Jesus Christ being born to earth, the only son of God in human form, as a baby in the manager caught my attention.  He went on to talk about how Jesus would later in his life die on the cross for my sins and the sins of all people.  Like I said, I had always gone to church growing up, but I would not say I always knew what I believed at that point.  It took me a few moments to get to the point where these words, the same words I had heard my whole life, caught my ear.  When they did I turned toward the pulpit to look at the pastor.  As I turned, I saw my dad.  For the first time ever in my life, I sat there and saw my dad crying.  As an emotional child, I cried frequently, it was normal for me.  I saw my mom cry and I probably saw all my siblings cry at various points, but my dad – I never saw my dad cry.  To the point that I did not think that dad’s cried because I just never saw my dad cry.  In that moment, as I saw my dad cry for the first time and I heard the words of Jesus coming to free us all from our sins through His sacrifice so that we could live eternally, I was overcome in a way I had not ever been before.  What was happening was different from emotions, I had many emotions so I knew that was not what was happening.  It was a realization that my dad was letting the words of the gospel of Jesus hit his heart and penetrate his soul, right in front of eyes.  Not for the first time in his life, but for the first time in my life that I had ever witnessed.  After that, I decided that this new church and the words spoken there from the Bible was exactly what my dad needed and really probably exactly what we all needed.  I saw a change in my dad’s heart that transformed his life, which transformed all of our lives.  For the first time, I took the Bible seriously and for the first time that year I took Christmas seriously.  It was not about the presents, it was not about the decorations, the lights, Santa Claus or the Christmas feels.  Christmas was about Jesus as a baby in the manger, which showed the love God had for every human He created.  The love God had to send His only son to earth to redeem His people from ourselves and from darkness.

Since that year, so long ago, there have been many Christmases and many changes in my life.  Through the happiness, longing, excitement and pains - one thing has remained the same.  I have been able to be joyful in it all, the best Christmases, the worst and every one of them in between.  Joy because of what Christmas really is about.  It is about how a Savior came as a baby in a manger and changed my dad, changed me and has changed so many people.  How Christ came to set each of our lives on a path with purpose that is beyond the temporal, beyond the tangible and beyond this season.  Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year.  Not because of the melody of a song sung by Andy Williams (and really not even the lyrics to that song at all).  It is the most wonderful time of year because regardless of what is happening in your life, in my life or in my dad’s life - Jesus came to seek and save the lost.  I was lost, but now I am found because of the Immanuel “God is with us”, Jesus the baby in a manger.

 “For unto us a child is born,
    to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
    and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of his government and of peace
    there will be no end,
on the throne of David and over his kingdom,
    to establish it and to uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
    from this time forth and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.”

Isaiah 9:6-7 (ESV)

“In the same region there were some shepherds staying out in the fields and keeping watch over their flock by night.  And an angel of the Lord suddenly stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them; and they were terribly frightened.  But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people; for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.  This will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there appeared with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest.  And on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased.’” Luke 2:8-14 (NASB)

“The birth of Jesus took place like this. His mother, Mary, was engaged to be married to Joseph. Before they came to the marriage bed, Joseph discovered she was pregnant. (It was by the Holy Spirit, but he didn’t know that.) Joseph, chagrined but noble, determined to take care of things quietly so Mary would not be disgraced.  While he was trying to figure a way out, he had a dream. God’s angel spoke in the dream: “Joseph, son of David, don’t hesitate to get married. Mary’s pregnancy is Spirit-conceived. God’s Holy Spirit has made her pregnant. She will bring a son to birth, and when she does, you, Joseph, will name him Jesus—‘God saves’—because he will save his people from their sins.” This would bring the prophet’s embryonic sermon to full term:  Watch for this—a virgin will get pregnant and bear a son; They will name him Immanuel (Hebrew for “God is with us”).  Then Joseph woke up. He did exactly what God’s angel commanded in the dream: He married Mary. But he did not consummate the marriage until she had the baby. He named the baby Jesus.”  Matthew 1:18-25 (MSG)