In our house, it was not the trimming of the Christmas tree that marked the beginning of the season (although important), it was really when Daddy buttoned up his corduroy coat, placed his Santa hat on, and headed out the door on a Saturday morning. Sunday morning, as we lit the first Advent candle, we knew the magic of the season had begun.
Birthdays were always a big deal in our home—celebrations of all kind really. But, Christmas, oh merry magical Christmas. The weeks leading up to Christmas were always exciting. We decorated the house, my mother hosted wonderful parties, we baked sugar cookies, and we sang. (“Dolly Parton’s Christmas” was my favorite cassette to put in rotation.) All the while, Dad (aka Santa) was in and out of the house doing his “Santa” duties. Hat on head of course. He had a spring in his step during December and a twinkle in his eye. Especially fun was when I had the opportunity to be part of his “Santa missions.” Whether it was a child, elderly person, or family in need, I do not think one Christmas went by that I do not recall him providing “Christmas” to those in need. Since his passing, I have learned of many more ways he talked the talked and walked the walked of Christmas.
Along with the regular Christmas traditions of our household (I always campaigned to light the pink Advent candle on the kitchen table), my father usually had something up his sleeve.
One year, I remember being disappointed that we did not have colored lights on our Christmas tree. My mother had the classiest tree, a mix of traditional ornaments, hand crocheted angels, cross stitched pieces, and her children’s homemade artwork. It was beautiful.
But this eight year old wanted color and Dad had something in mind.
After a Bojangles breakfast date, he said, “Dorothy, Honey Pot, I am not sure Ace Hardware has what we need today so we are going to Kmart.” I was a bit confused because Ace Hardware always had what dad needed.
When we arrived at Kmart, Dad pulled several boxes down from the top shelf.
COLORED LIGHTS!
My eyes widened. But these were not regular indoor tree lights. These bulbs were HUGE! (This mission was going to be an adventure.)
Dad set the plan in motion. Mom was scheduled to be gone from the house for a few hours. We retrieved the ladder and got to work. Just at my folks’ mailbox is a wooded area. In the winter it is pretty sparse, but there is a giant tree perfect for stringing lights. We finished our project as Dad got the power source and electricity in order.
Then we waited…with excitement and nervous anticipation.
The sun set and mom returned home. Sure her live greenery and classy red bows adorning the house were pretty, but right there in our front yard was our huge filled with huge colored lights!
I think Mom almost passed out. We were giddy! It was amazing. And you know what? My classy Christmas southern Mom kind of loved it too, I think, because that very next Christmas, our living room tree was covered in color with blinking, musical lights.
Gosh it can be so difficult to anticipate the Christmas season when life seems raw, ugly and exposed. Traditions that once brought joy now inflict sharp pain and deep sorrow. And as I look outside of my own personal grief, my father’s recent suicide, to the brokenness, darkness, and injustices of the world we live in, I am all but paralyzed. Singing, “Come Thou Long Expected Jesus” is not a soft request, but a deep yearning and plea for our Lord to make Peace on this Earth. I want to scream it from the rafters, not sing reverently from a pew.
I am praying for the shifting and shaping of my heart to remember, with great care, that true excitement and anticipation are rooted in the coming of what is to be the final reconciliation. And that in the meantime, as we anticipate Glory, I want to live intentionally—seeking more colored light buying adventures and being an elf to those in need. As a follower of Christ, I am not called to just live as a Christian seasonally. Everyday is a opportunity to celebrate His coming, His Birth, and the life He gives to you and me. May we EMBRACE IT, LIVE IT, and TELL IT…
(cue: Dolly Parton singing, “Go tell it on the Mountain.”)
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