It’s Christmas once again, and I really try to
get into the holiday spirit, but it’s become increasingly difficult as the
years pass and I realize that the years ahead of me are fewer than those behind
me. So here I am, writing this essay—not for anyone else, but for myself,
trying to express these emotions so I can push through them and move on.
For me, Christmas has turned into a time of
compromise—struggling to find a balance between its spiritual meaning and its
secular aspects. As I grow older, I find myself focusing more on the true
essence of Christmas and less on the gifts we give and receive. Our family
doesn’t celebrate the way we used to either. In years past, we’d gather at my
parents’ house, and that little space would fill up with the warmth of hugs and
laughter. Some years, when we couldn’t go to my parents’, we’d host at our house,
exchanging gifts and enjoying a Christmas feast, lovingly prepared after weeks
of planning. But now it’s become “too much trouble” for everyone to come to our
house for the holidays, and that thought weighs on me. I never wanted to be the
“trouble” for anyone. Yet, as I write this, I think back on the times when I
didn’t visit my own parents because it felt like “too much trouble.” Oh, how I
wish I could turn back time and visit them every chance I had, spending endless
hours just talking to them. But for now, we compromise. My son and his family
will come over, each in separate cars, and my son will stop by the store to
grab a small gift for us. I’ll say the blessing before dinner, trying to sound
as grateful and uplifting as possible. After the meal, we’ll exchange gifts,
and I’ll watch the look of disappointment on their faces when the presents you
chose with care are met with expressions of disappointment or comments like,
“What is this?” A few hours later, everyone will go their separate ways,
quietly scrolling through their phones to avoid conversation. And just like
that, one family gathering is over, and another awaits.
That brings me to this morning’s conversation.
Our family out of state won’t be joining us for Christmas, so we planned to
visit them instead. We debated whether to go on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day,
and over the weekend, I thought we’d agreed on Christmas Eve. But this morning,
as you were preparing to go to work, I asked for clarification on what I needed
to do to get ready to leave this afternoon. Your response was, “You never said
okay, so I didn’t think we were going today.” Then you added, “I know you
wouldn’t want to go at all, since you just don’t feel it.” I wanted to talk
about it more, but you didn’t want to engage. After you left for work, I felt
disappointed, as though my feelings didn’t really matter.
I’ve earned the title of “Scrooge” during this
time of year because I want to spend less on gifts. Living on a fixed income
means we have to be more mindful of our spending. We always talk about scaling
back on gifts, but every year we end up spending more than we planned. I try to
remind you that our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren already
have more than they’ll ever need or use. The toys and things we give them will
bring joy for only a short while, because there’s always something newer or
bigger just around the corner. But please don’t misunderstand me—I don’t
begrudge a single gift. I know they are given with love, and that brings you
joy. Your generosity is one of the things that make you so special. I love how
giving you are, and I know it’s part of who you are.
Now, for the truth that’s hard to admit: I do
love Christmas. I love its spiritual meaning, but I also cherish this time of
year because it reminds us to pause and think about others—not in a
materialistic sense, but in a genuine, heartfelt way. We send greeting cards to
friends and family and wish “Merry Christmas” or “Happy New Year” to strangers.
If only we could carry that spirit with us all year round, wouldn’t the world
be a better place? And wouldn’t it be wonderful if gifts were given from the heart,
not just because we feel obligated?
One of the questions I always dread is, “What do you want for Christmas?”
What I want for Christmas is to feel closer to you and our whole family.
What I want for Christmas is to feel that same excitement I once had as a
child, waking up early to see what had been left for me under the tree.
What I want for Christmas is one more day, hour, or minute with my mom and
dad.
What I want for Christmas is for my failing eyesight to improve so I can
marvel at the world around me.
What I want for Christmas is to be able to see more of the beautiful world
out there.
What I want for Christmas is for people to treat each other with a little
more kindness and respect.
What I want for Christmas can’t be bought in any store. It’s a connection
with my family, bound in love.
But most of all, what I want for Christmas is to
feel deep gratitude for all the blessings God has given me and to feel
connected to the world around me. I want to remember Christ’s sacrifice and
God’s grace, and for Christmas to be more than just a holiday—but a spiritual
occasion.
I always love the moment in A Charlie Brown
Christmas when Linus so beautifully explains what Christmas is really
about:
"And there were in the same country
shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And,
lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round
about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said to them, Fear not:
for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all
people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is
Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the baby
wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with
the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to
God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."
Merry Christmas, Susan. Your love and
companionship are the greatest gifts I could ever ask for. I love you more than
you will ever know.
