It was the day we celebrated the mysterious birth of a baby in a manger,
the morning following Santa's fascinating slide down our brick chimney (where he emerged out of our wood stove, I was convinced) to leave an array of surprises under our Christmas tree,
the day we drove the curvy countryside road to my grandparents' house, where dozens of laughing family members crammed into their little white home, feasted on more food than we could finish, then gathered around their tree where I always opened a package containing some sort of beautiful doll. Then my brother, cousins, and I played happily with those new toys while laughter and Christmas music filled the background.
Then the morning of December 26 arrived. A quiet empty house. No packages under the tree cheerfully wrapped in colorful paper. No roomful of laughing relatives or merry sounds of carols. The magic---gone. As a kid, I often gazed up at our Christmas tree, which just didn't look the same the day after---and cried that it was all over.
All that buildup and anticipation for one twenty-four hour day. That is a lot for a child's senses to process, isn't it? Or even an adult's.
I don't grieve on the days after Christmas as I once did. Now, that week between Christmas and the welcoming of a new year is often when I finally get a chance to rest and reflect on the significance of the season. I have often heard people mention their plans to "keep Christmas all year long." Yet, understandably, their words seem to fall away once the dull, monotonous lull of January sets in.
But my goal this year is to find small ways to celebrate Emmanuel's coming, even in the months long after December:
I had plans to hand-deliver a few Christmas cards. It never happened. Between sickness and a schedule that threw me close to a depressive episode, the cards were never delivered. Then I decided: why should cards only be given at Christmas? What about in the middle of January, when the cheerful lights have all been taken down, the string of holidays are over, and we are left with a cold long winter ahead? What about delivering special cards then, when least expected, when many people are simply fumbling their way through a dull, empty month of winter?
Or gifts---I'm not a fan of excessive, over-the-top gift-giving at Christmas. But what about little items I see that make me think of someone in particular? I could pick those up, either save them for a Christmas present, or surprise someone with an unexpected gift in the middle of the year.
I have read and practiced this tradition in the past: saving Christmas cards for at least the month of January, re-reading one per night, and praying for the family who sent it---letting the beautiful artwork and warm greeting remind me that we still welcome the Prince of Peace, not only in December, but every day of the year.
I set a goal last year which I failed at, but am trying again this January. I want to follow along with the liturgical calendar, to keep me more focused on all the moments of Jesus' life we can commemorate, not merely the popular ones our culture celebrates.
December 25 is over. I don't miss the hectic rush or the stress of holiday obligations. I don't miss the crazed traffic or the pressure to buy massive quantities of presents. But I love the story of Christmas. I want to intentionally hold onto it as we enter my least favorite month, the bleak, dark month of January. I want to carry that Christmas child, who became the man that rescued us, with me as another year begins.
Do you have any ideas on how to keep Christmas throughout the year?
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