tradition

Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.”

I’ve had a form of that thought on our Christmas cards for the past three years.  As crazy as this season can get, I want every friend who reads it to pause, feel and know the worth of their soul.

I love Christmas with every molecule in my body.  I could live in the North Pole and would willingly be Santa’s helper –  even accepting payment in candy canes.  And yet, as much as I love it, I’m the second to admit that the traditions created under the holiday of the Jesus’s birth have gotten a little out of hand.  I think Jesus would be the first to admit it. Please don’t misunderstand me, I want to celebrate His birth.  I also want to adorn the seven themed Christmas trees in our home.  I love traditions, and I think he is okay with us having secular traditions at his birthday party, because truthfully, he was probably born in March. Or September?  I don’t know, but it’ll be in my top 86 questions to ask when I get to walk and talk with Him in the garden.  When was your actual birthday Jesus?  What zodiac sign are you really?  Which of our Christmas trees was your favorite?  (I’m betting He says the champagne colored Chrismon tree with my grandparents angel on top.)

Loving Christmas runs in my blood.  I’m convinced my grandmother’s middle name was Kringle.  My mom and grandmother would convince me to go to sleep by tucking me in beside Nannymom, my great-grandmother.  While my mom stood at the door telling me goodnight, Meme would swing the end of Santa’s hat over her head for me to catch a glimpse of.  This ensured me squeezing my eyes shut and trying to force sleep to come soon, so Santa would be sure to leave the gifts with my name on them.

When I was seven, my parents decided to stop celebrating Christmas, basically for the reason I stated above.  They now viewed it as a secular holiday with a biblical reason tagged to it.  I get it, I just didn’t love it.  I went from living in the North Pole to simply living in Amarillo.  I informed my grandmother that the gig was up, Santa wasn’t real.  I knew this because my parents had told me the truth.  I felt very grown up while telling her this, but was a little hopeful when she adamantly replied that Santa was the real deal.

From my second grade memory; one random day, close to Christmas, the doorbell rang.  When I answered it, I found two huge, lawn and leaf bags full of presents on the front porch, along with two Strawberry Shortcake rocking chairs beside them.  I shouted to my parents, pulled the bags in and started opening presents in the bag for me. (The other being for my new baby sister.)  They were all from Santa Claus himself, he must deliver early for those who don’t believe anymore.  A few minutes later the bell rang again, with my grandparents on the other side of the door.  What a coincidence.  They stepped in – Meme decked out in her big fur coat, and said something like, “We were just on our way home from dinner and wanted to stop in and say hi.”.   I couldn’t contain my excitement, and began showing them what all Santa had brought for India and I.  Meme replied with a wink, “See, I told you Santa was real and wouldn’t forget about you this year.”

That memory always makes me smile.  My poor parents, I’m sure they were furious for several reasons, one being that Ol’ Saint Nick hadn’t remembered them, but they were good sports about it.  Years later, they started celebrating Christmas again.  Judging from the number of icicles that my mom threw on the tree that first year, I think it’d be safe to say she had missed Christmas as well.

This year, I have walked into rooms, forgetting the reason exactly five hundred times a day.  I have wrapped 836 presents and gone through seven rolls of tape.  I’m irritated that I haven’t fit in as many Hallmark Christmas movies as I had planned on.  My kids are tired and cranky – sick of studying for finals and sniffling from winter colds. There have been some attitude adjustments needed and had. Even my roomba isn’t minding me. Getting lost and stuck at every turn. Come on Rosie, how many times have you vacuumed this house?  And you still don’t know your way around?!   I feel like Jessie off of Saved by the Bell, wishing there were more time and looking for no-doz.  On a deeper level, we have friends whose hearts are broken this year.  The holidays making them feel their loss even harder.  Our hearts are burdened and heavy for so many reasons and for so many people.

And then, when I pause to admire the warm glow of the tree, I remember what Bob Goff shared…

Bob also contemplated that he bet the Innkeeper later wished he had made more room than he thought he had for Jesus.

Let every heart prepare him room.

I’m sure there are still things left on your list to do.  There always will be my friend. How about the preparations of your heart?  Have you filled all your margins of time with chores and gifts?  What is left for Him? What if we prepared our hearts as much as we do our homes? There is garland and candles on every open space here at home, but how warm and inviting is our heart?

I love our Christmas traditions, I wait and prepare all year for them.  I don’t imagine this is going to slow down while I’m physicaly able.  It would be odd to keep these Christmas decorations up throughout the year.  You know what wouldn’t be odd?  Preparing our hearts year round.  Daily.  Shall we?  Pick up the broom, grab some candles, and keep some time set aside to nuture that space.

No matter the day of His actual birthday, I cherish this season to celebrate him.  The baby who God sent to find us, because your soul is worth it beloved.