Bah Humbug!

I never intended to become Scrooge. I've always loved the delightful promise of Christmas, with twinkling lights, wonderful smells, the excitement of the season. The baby in the manger has held my heart since childhood, so the advent and celebration of His birth holds much meaning for me. When we had our four babies, it was like getting to be a kid all over again. Their new discoveries peeled the years off our old cynical selves. And then grandbabies came, with their innocence and joy. I had no clue that was part of the fun that arrived with the treasure of a baby.

But something happened. Maybe I've just gotten tired. Or older. Or really out of shape. Never mind, all that has kind-of happened. After Halloween hits, the pressure begins to mount. Layers and layers of guilt from all directions press onto my psyche. What I should do. What I don't do. What I will do. What I won't do. Food, more food. Gifts and thoughtfulness. Not to mention forgetfulness. Thanksgiving is looming. Gotta get the trees up, get the house cleaned. How will I do that turkey this year? Butter and more butter. More and more guilt. I start thinking about last year's resolutions and how this next year's are starting to seem like a broken record, played how many times? And are we gonna have those potato yeast rolls or just buy some packaged ones? I want everybody here, everybody. No grousing or griping about this or that, what am I supposed to bring? I have no idea. I'm making the turkey, with rosemary and butter up its hiney. And some jello. Bring whatever you like. It'll all work out. I haven't even read the Thanksgiving edition of Southern Living, much less the Fall edition. That insane pecan pie on the front will take me a week to figure out, so I guess I'll pick one up at Walmart. Speaking of pecans, they're dropping all over the backyard and I can't even get the ones picked out that I've got sitting in a monstrous bowl in the living room. And that's just Thanksgiving. Then there's four weeks to Christmas. A mural to paint, three houses to decorate for clients and obligations to city events. Don't mention the real estate. Or how I've neglected pretty much everybody I love this year. 

Ah, there it is. My people. We run about, making money and projects, only to forget about the people. It all starts with good intentions, where that's exactly what we are doing: taking care of our own. Then it morphs into the tyranny of the urgent and chaos and mayhem, until we've forgotten who or why. How do we change it? Here in America, we've made the holidays into a strange melee of consumerism. It's what makes the world go 'round. How do we make it stop? 

We don't really have true winter here, in our lovely South. There's very few snow days, though usually a day or two of some really bad ice. There's no lingering with a snowflake tipping onto your tongue or long months curled up with a book next to a fire. But we do have Christmas. Let's take this year to be intentional about our lives. I am going to vacate for a day, sometime in the next few....and write down what each person in my family means to me. I am going to put to pen all the things that I'm thankful for. I'm not going to promise to lose a hundred pounds or change the world. But I'm resolving to make these holidays better, to have a plan and not just wait on Chernobyl to happen. To seek the face of the Lord who made it all and who makes it all worth it. Maybe I'll just cancel that confounded magazine.