You have a reason for these:
{though, as always, I petition to celebrate certain holidays
year-round
all the time
never stop
and constantly switch between
flowers
hearts
trees
garland
and pumpkins}
in the meantime,
Happy Valentine’s Day
and oh, we mustn’t let the love, kindness, and chocolate stop after today. Never ever ever.
I write often.
Mostly about silly things– yellow backpacks and coffee and Christmas. It helps keep writing fun, because research and theology papers have the ability to suck all life out of writing.
Also, I kind of want to prove to my grandchildren that I lived an entertaining life and didn’t merely sit around and knit (though I’m realizing more and more that my life is becoming one of a grandmother: my body shuts down with the Sun, I swear by Denny’s, and I do knit and like books).
Lots of things are fun and lack purpose though, so I don’t ever want to dismiss my purpose in writing (or going to class or serving or being in Pi Phi or whatever else my scattered schedule holds this week).
I write to bring glory to the God Most High.
Whether I’ve made it clear or not, it cannot be overstated or understated, repeated too many times, shouted too loudly or whispered more sweetly or with more force.
I desire to live for Christ.
I deserved hell and still do, but by dying an excruciating death with nothing but a perfect, yes perfect, record, his hands were pierced on my behalf.
And yours.
Blood flowed, tears fell, and payment was paid. A giant payment that makes grace impossible to comprehend. If I ever claim to understand it, it’ll only be when I’m standing before the throne of God and He’s personally explaining it.
Knowing this God is my goal.
I fail often- so often that when I see glimpses of Him I want to smack myself on the face and then am taken back to the classroom of grace.
I’m learning.
Learn with me.
I promise you it’ll blow your mind.
and heart.
Christmas went entirely too quickly.
Sometimes when I miss it, I’ll squint while driving at night. Break lights and headlights all merge together in the prettiest of scenes.
Preferably you’re in the passenger seat while squinting (I say so for liability reasons), but sometimes you have to take risks. And curves are the best.
January has its perks: a fresh start and the time when resolutions have stuck, but January must also overcome the homesickness of Christmas being, yet again, a year away.
Christmas in January. Squint Away.
Chapter 11.
Christmas only comes once a year, but as I’ve advocated in the past, I am confident we would all be happier people if we celebrated throughout the year.
Lest anyone miss out on the opportunity to thoroughly enjoy this holiday, my apartment now has garland wrapped around the banister, stockings hung from the tv, and a 2-foot tree standing crookedly but ever so tall. This is Christmas college style. As part of Fall Break, I decorated Christmas cookies (though the red icing was more pink), sipped apple cider, and watched my favorite movie of all time: Elf. Of course, I did all of this wearing my Santa hat. Oh, you mustn’t forget the Christmas music.
Just hear those sleigh bells jingling
Ring-ting-tingling too
Come on it’s lovely weather
For a sleigh ride together with you
Whether or not a sleigh ride is feasible or if I’m actually still wearing shorts is a non-issue. Christmas is warming. It’s a warming of the heart, and if Texans are still skeptical about more heat, I’m sure Missourians will cherish the warmth.
One thing I miss right now is my precious little brother Robert. Call him Mr. Festive. He decorates our house with such spirit that even if the icicle lighting on the mantle makes your eyes hurt or if the outdoor lighted deer loses its head, you don’t dare change a thing. His heart is evident, his joy radiant, and it’s contagious.
We need more Roberts.
I cannot wait for him to pull the boxes from the attic and watch my mom encourage what she knows she’s going to have to put away in January. He’ll be too depressed to help. Until then, he’ll be all smiles.
Today is December 28th. I had to ask the date today at the gym when I filled out my guest pass registration form. I found it quite humorous that the lady working the desk had me fill out a form giving consent that I wouldn’t sue them the 6th and final time I could use my pass. Some people are rule followers, and I guess the 5 ladies sitting at the desk before Ms. Rule were too lazy to get my name. I’m a fan of the slackers in such cases.
The significance of the 28 is that it’s three days after Christmas meaning I failed. I genuinely had the intention of writing a Christmas card letter. Ya know one of those updates from the past year on the random happenings with one’s family sends to both those who were there for the stories and those you only communicate with through the exchange of the annual cards. Tis the season.
This failure slightly concerns me, because if I cannot get a Christmas card sent at age 20 with 0 husbands and 0 children and not much of a job, how will I ever send one out when I have family and career? Maybe the domestic lackings I currently hold will magically be fulfilled and updating others via letters will accompany. Or maybe, I’ll be a mother so enthralled by her children that I’ll desperately look for an opportunity to brag. Whatever the case, I pray for the miracle.
I was lamenting on the three days equaling a missed chance when it dawned on me. The realization might be justifying my lateness coupled with my inability to transition out of Christmas season, but here’s my new philosophy nonetheless: Christmas season can go past Christmas.
Bet you thought the money pouring into my education and the books I read would lead to something a bit more profound. Sorry to let you down.
Hear me out. After the Black Friday hype with the lines and tramplings, people find themselves humming along with Christmas tunes and finding excuses to give gifts to the people they swore they were going to kill earlier in November. Gingerbread houses (which now come preassembled!! Come on) are built, Facebook statuses are cheery, coffee and tea sales skyrocket, and the hideous Christmas ties are busted out. Tis the season, right?
Come December 18 the season is put on hold and urgent shopping kicks in. Walmart utilizes every creaking cart they own, horns start honking, lines accumulate, and bare shelves start to appear. Frustration, aggravation, and not-so-Christmassy behavior escalates.
During that horrid week I was one of the thousands backing up Glenstone Avenue and Battlefield Intersections, tapping my hand, listening to the horns. I would spend more time looking for a parking spot at Walmart than shopping and more time standing in line than both combined. I got my gifts bought, but I found that grumpy people surrounded me, dampening this so called season.
So I smiled. Big. I was grumpy once… okay, well… more than once, and the most annoying thing someone can do is to look happy. Smiling is definitely the worst.
Walking around Walmart I’d smile, but no matter how much or how big I smiled or what persona I could show, it was to no avail. No good attitudes could transcend from me to Mr. Grumpy. The season was put on hold.
Back to my proposal: Christmas season can go past Christmas. I propose that the season lost the week before Christmas be preserved for another time. Meaning, if I want to send my Christmas card letter on the 28th, I could. Or maybe April 12th amidst Spring Fever and taxes. Everyone needs a lift then.
My sister’s birthday is exactly 6 months and one day from mine, so on her birthday, my precious mother would celebrate my half birthday. Probably to appease a jealous toddler, I’d be sung “Happy half-birthday”(the extra syllable threw off the song a bit), and this increased the celebration. June 25th, we could celebrate “Half-Christmas.”
For whatever occasion, Tis the Season is not limiting. My best friends gift is still sitting on my bedside table. Just because it’s the 28th doesn’t mean I’m not going to send the present with pride with my cheesy Christmas card attached. I have seven days to use, and I’m going to use them sparingly and purposefully. The Grinch isn’t stealing the week again. Tis the Season, which is not bound by date!
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