My Love/Hate Relationship With Christmas: Confessions of a Christmas-holic

It is two days after Christmas and I have been reduced to a drooling, mumbling, pajama-clad couch potato. In December a few years ago, I made a trip to the dermatologist where my daughter, Stephanie, works. I had burning, itching hives covering my neck and chest that felt like a hundred stinging ants.  “Well, looks like you were here last December for the same thing,” said the doctor.  “That’s it! It has been confirmed. I’m allergic to Christmas,” I replied.

I love Jesus. I serve Him as closely and faithfully as I can, but I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas. I love everything about it. I hate the amount of work that it entails. I confess, I am responsible for much of my Christmas to-do list. All those cookies I bake – dozens and dozens – to give to neighbors, family and friends. And my family reproduces like sex-starved rabbits, so my gift list is a continually growing, demanding parasite.

Thank God gift giving is my love language. Otherwise, I would eradicate that leech-list – set fire to it and cackle like the Wicked Witch of the West. Even though I purchase sale items all year long, I find myself scrambling and searching in a psychotic frenzy at the last minute every December. This year I had tons of little boy gifts, but many more little girls than boys in the family. Seriously, though, why can’t a three-month-old baby girl get a set of Hot Wheels as a gift? Who makes these rules anyway? I have a confession: little boys are easier to buy for than little girls, but men are harder to buy for than women. That is my truth, so there!

Then all the meals! Somehow I manage to keep up my usual “everyone-comes-to-my-house-for-lunch-after-church-every-Sunday” ritual. I had not fully recovered from all that cooking/baking I did for Thanksgiving when the kitchen fairy – that cursed, wretched, slave-driving creature – reminded me I have much to do in December.

And don’t ask me why I drive myself to be the Queen of Christmas Decorating. I even do the front yard décor with lights and everything. But I have learned a valuable, sanity-saving secret. Let there be no item set out at Christmas – or any other time – that is more precious to you than the tiny hands that may break it. My younger self was not so gracious about this. But now I let my grandkids and great-grandkids rearrange my village, take baby Jesus out of the nativity, touch Santas with not-so-clean fingers….you get the idea. And every year, something gets broken. And I always ask the tearful offender, “What do I love more? You or (that thing) you broke? Of course, I love you more.”

To make this December worse, I started off the first week with some coughing, achy, sneezing, fatigued virus from hell. It lasted a week. Then the Sunday night before Christmas – after having thirty plus people here that day for lunch and to play that steal-the-gift game – I got a horrid bug that kept me up most of the night with some demonic minion twisting a burning knife in my stomach.

I had to babysit a grandson Monday and Tuesday before Christmas. To top that off, my youngest daughter, Heather’s, husband ended up in ICU, so I had those three grandkids too. I was facing a Christmas Eve meal and festivities for 20-30 family, plus preparing a complete meal to take to the in-laws in another city on Christmas day.

Heaving a heavy sigh while every bone and muscle in my sixty-six year old body groans in protest, I am forever grateful for Jesus Christ, Incarnate God, who chose to be born as a helpless newborn with a destiny to sacrifice His mortal, human body because of His profound love for mankind. Words are inadequate to express the depth of my love for my Lord and savior.

This Christmas, I am especially grateful that my son-in-law, Bobby, got released from the hospital to be with his family for Christmas. Also, my sweet grandson, Nathanael, and his wife, Jessica, handed me a box of Cerrata’s Chocolates, and said, “Our other Christmas gift is that we’re going to have a baby.”  A miracle I have been praying about for almost two years. Only a handful know the significance of that announcement. 

And because I love my family and friends, I will always look forward to Christmas. 

Know Your Calling

One of the advantages to living in Phoenix, if you’re a sports’ fan, is the variety of teams we have. For the NBA lover, we have the Phoenix Suns. NFL? The Arizona Cardinals. Hockey? The Phoenix Coyotes. Baseball? The Arizona Diamondbacks. WNBA. The Mercury. Then we have teams like the Rattlers.

 

A few nights ago I stayed awake to watch the Diamondbacks play 18 innings (7 hours, 6 minutes – the longest game in D’Backs history). Score was tied 7-7. The Philadelphia Phillies eventually let a fielder be the pitcher. He wasn’t trained to pitch, but he did okay. Except – our batters got five hits off him in the 18^th inning to win the game.

 

A wise person knows their calling, their gifts and skills. Just because a person loves to sing, wants to be a singer, doesn’t necessarily mean they can sing. I’ve heard a few who set my teeth on edge, but their whole stage persona says they think they are the cat’s meow. The Phillies fielder wasn’t skilled at pitching, but he gave it his best effort.

 

Some people just can’t write. It’s not their gifting, yet I’ve read some things on websites, usually sponsored writing contests, that were quite horrid. The grammar and craft is awful, there really isn’t a flow of a story line whatsoever. Often a person can have a gift for storytelling, but just need to develop their skills or take classes to hone their craft. Those aren’t the people I’m talking about.

 

When I started writing, I hadn’t a clue regarding the proper crafting of a story. I’ve learned as time progressed. I’m still learning. It amazes me when people approach me with, “Can you read this and tell me what you think?”

 

I’m not an expert and I know it. I’m not even well-educated in the art of writing. Yet I’ve had a few people who send me thing to “read.” I’ve even had someone pester me to write their life story AFTER keeping me on the phone for an hour sharing events in her life. I’m thinking of two people in particular, and both are disconnectedly related to me.

 

Don’t misunderstand – I have friends who write and I love to read their work and tell them what I think. But to the other two – one keeps sending me “stuff” in a private message on facebook and wants me to critique it – please be considerate. I am not an authority on writing at all, I am very busy, and we are not close at all for you to expect such favors from me. And it is rude! My advice – join a writing group.

Like the Phillies pitcher, I can tell you what I think, but I may lose the game for you.

Gifts and Talents

We all have gifting and talents. To be happy and content in life we need to follow our true gifting and talents.

Take me for instance. I love to sing. I drive everyone crazy with my singing, especially if I have ear buds in listening to my iPod. I love to quietly sing along. At least, I assumed I was being quiet…until my husband told me otherwise. “You’re loud and off-key,” he informed me in his best I-love-you-but-you-have-to-stop-this voice!

When I was younger, me and my friends sang in a group in church. I had a reasonably good voice then, but after a couple of years of allergy triggered laryngitis, my voice lost some of its umph! Well, maybe most of its umph! Because of that, I would never sing in public unless it’s in a rather large choir. I know my gifting limitations.

My friend, Jan, struggles with writing a full length novel. Let me say right now that she is a very gifted writer. She writes wonderful devotions and short stories. She has ideas for fabulous novels, but feels frustrated with the struggle to complete one.  I have the opposite problem. Once I have the idea for a novel and start writing, my brain won’t shut down. My characters become live people clamoring to be heard, demanding my attention. If I had time to sit down for a solid few days, I could complete a novel in that time.

Jan writes awesome devotions. I love them. Ask me to write a devotional and I could, but it would take time and a lot of thought.  Ask me to write a book of devotions and I would freak out. I’d have to be on tranquilizers, it would stress me out so much. Yet it seems to just flow out of Jan.

God can always change or add to our gifting and talents, and sometimes He does. What is your gift, skill or talent?