Christmas Came
It was mid-December last year before I got the Christmas tree up. I don’t usually wait that long, but I was having trouble getting into the spirit of things. I put it off over and over waiting for the right time, a more convenient time. Eventually, I thought, “Just do it. When the tree’s up and the house is decorated, it’ll feel like Christmas.” So, I did.
But Christmas didn’t come.
An entry from my journal written during the days leading up to Christmas, suggests some version of holiday hide and seek had been going on for a while. “ I find more and more, the older I get, the Christmas feeling is hard to come by.”
I couldn’t quite put my finger on the problem.
Maybe the lack of enthusiasm around the holiday is a natural byproduct of aging. Childlike joyous anticipation tends to fade when you’re frantically trying to live up to a Pinterest version of the holiday. Add to that, the ache in your heart for Christmases past when your parents were healthy and your children were small, and it’s no wonder the shiny holiday has grown a bit lackluster.
I looked for Christmas as I shopped, anticipated its arrival as I wrapped each gift, but comfort and joy, it seemed, were playing hard-to-get.
I looked for Christmas as I planned the menu being sure to include traditional holiday dishes my family enjoys. Sweet potato casserole for Daddy, a citrus salad with chantilly cream for my daughter-in-law. But still, the heart-warming Yuletide feeling remained out of reach.
When Christmas Day arrived, I thought, surely, I’d be Ebenezer Scrooge waking to the thrill of finding Christmas hadn’t passed me by. But as my family gathered around the table to eat our morning feast, I resigned myself to the fact that this year the special glow of Christmas would not come. Maybe next year.
Don’t get me wrong. There was pleasure in doing all the holiday things, but somehow, it seemed there should be something more merry and bright, some magical spark.
With the festivities done, my youngest son and his family loaded up the car and prepared to leave for their next stop. The day was done and Christmas hadn’t come. I stood in the kitchen watching the two-year-old as she headed out the door eager for more holiday celebrations. Then on the stoop, she paused and ran back to me, face upturned all rumpled and wild, high on sugar and the tearing of wrapping paper, lips puckered for a kiss. I stooped and pressed my lips to hers.
She spun on her heel and was gone, leaving me with a smile on my face and a tear in my eye. In her wake, came the warmth I’d been seeking for weeks. I’d searched for Christmas high and low. Then, just when I least expected, Chistmas found me.