Merry Christmas! We are visiting my
family in snowy Canada, although it is not as snowy or as cold as I
expected. Considering that we dragged an extra suitcase here to
accommodate snow suits and related paraphernalia, we better get at
least one snow storm.
The Christmas season at my parents'
house is full of chocolate, gingerbread, and never-ending desserts.
Long nights invite pajama days and blankets by the fire. It's
Christmas movies, puzzles, and walks in the darkness gazing at
lights. It's at least one person becoming ill, children complaining
they are cold, and me booting them out the door anyway. Builds
character.
Christmas also means gifts, and a lot
of them. Being the only grandchildren has it's benefits, after all.
December 25th is a veritable paradise for my kids, leading
to their logical conclusion that my mom is Santa Claus. Jon's trick
of leaving footprints by the fireplace this year may have muddied
that impression, though. Her feet are not that big.
Anyway, it's the annual mountain of
gifts that has me writing today. I used to worry that all these
presents would undermine our parental attempts to communicate why we
have Christmas at all. How could my kids possibly understand and
appreciate the gift of our Lord while unwrapping the immediate gift
of a doll singing “Let it Go” or a Hexbug that makes mommy
shudder a little? But I had an epiphany sometime in the last few
years: the number and style of gifts is irrelevant. It doesn't matter
if the kids get two gifts or twenty, if they cost $1 or $100, they
aren't going to remember any of it. And I don't say this as an
argument for not having gifts at all, but rather as a statement
freeing me from worry. And maybe, perhaps, you too.
This epiphany came as I thought back to
my own Christmases past. I don't remember much about what I received.
(Although for some reason I kept a meticulous log and/or pictures of
the gifts. This was either a lame attempt at journaling or early
preparation for Alzheimer's. I was kind of a strange kid.) But what I
do remember is the incredible special-ness of the season. I remember
each tradition and the care with which we approached the day. It
still isn't Christmas if I don't hear my Dad reading from the book of
Matthew, or if we don't sing hymns at the Christmas Eve service. I
remember the years we awoke at 4 a.m so we could spend the morning
with my dad before his 12 hour shift. I remember wearing pajamas and
eating chocolates all day. I remember the excitement of being with
family, and the leftover turkey sandwiches. Oh, those turkey
sandwiches. To this day I exclusively eat leftover turkey sandwiches
for at least three days post-Christmas. It's kind of my thing. And I
remember my dad thanking our Lord for his grace in providing us with
this opportunity to care for each other.
To be fair, one Christmas does stand
out for the presents. It was the year my brother received both Castle
Grayskull and Snake Mountain, and we still talk about it. We don't
reminisce about the castles themselves, of course (although they were
pretty awesome), but rather about the joy of seeing a little guy
shocked out of his mind.
My point is, if you are a parent – as
I was - who is worried that too much plastic crap at the holidays
will detract from the deeper meaning, please don't. If you are even
thinking about these things, chances are you already have many other
non-tangibles to offer your children this holidays season. And once
you have that, no amount of gifts will detract from what Christmas
is, and why it is special. I'll go out on a limb and say that what
might negatively influence your kids is any stress and significance
that you yourself have placed on those tokens. Kids have a way of
sensing what we feel is important. And if we as parents choose to
spend our own time looking towards the true light, our kids will find
their gaze turned there as well. Just as the Grinch could not steal
Christmas, neither can a few extra boxes under the Christmas tree.
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