Armchair Pundits

Seasonal Musings

The Christmas Season is officially in full swing. The stores are crammed full of shoppers, party invitations are piling up, and our mailbox is once again full from well- wishers. The children’s enthusiasm is at an all time high. Imagine an epileptic at a disco and you pretty much get the idea. Whoever said that Christmas is for kids, probably didn’t have any; but if they did, they obviously weren’t paying close enough attention. For the manifold chores that come with parenting, God seems to balance the ledger with the simplest of pleasures, the bewilderment and awe that comes from discovery. The wife and I find immense satisfaction in watching our children’s excitement. Half the time and most of the year, their fervor is rooted in something we adults take for granted or count trivial. This, in and of itself, should give us pause as we reflect on the moments that constitute our lives. I remember the rush of exhilaration that I felt when first telling time or strapping on skis. Essentially, the joy of discovery for our children is the joy of rediscovery for us, and at no other time is this probably felt more acutely than at Christmas.

The magic of Christmas is all about anticipation. It is worthy to note that anticipation is intimately acquainted with ritual, and ritual is fundamental to our experience of happiness. Initially, it is the anticipation of the first real snow. Knee deep, backbreaking, bone chilling, wonder from heaven it is. The ecstasy of the moment is interrupted by the sudden departure of faculties, as the wife and I peer into the glazed frost in each other’s eyes. Quickly, we contemplate how expediently we can bundle up the troops and start the adventure. Anticipation has moved to THE TREE. Having no regard for frostbitten fingers, we head off into the wonderland that is a Minnesota winter, in search of the perfect tree. Do visions of Griswolds dance in your head? Trust me, we’re not far off. Although, the last couple of years have been a bit strange as the discovery of the tree precipitated the snow’s arrival, so the ritual has been slightly askew. Arriving at our customary place, the family is delirious with choices. There are tall trees & short trees; fat trees & skinny trees; trees that are prickly and trees that are soft. That’s right, I said soft. A connoisseur of the needle I am. After much searching and a few tears shed over the hopeless fact that I will never be able to fit my first choice into the house, the saw comes out. I learned early on, that you always bring your own saw. Otherwise, you will huff and puff, sweat through your gear and be tempted to use language that would make a cardinal blush.

Once home, the real fun starts, as the tree, still angry from its removal from the forest, refuses to take its proper abode in the stand. After much consternation and more sawing, the tree complies. Then the decorations! The kids are exuberant as they prepare to hang the decorations, but wait…the lights.

For eight Christmases, we’ve enjoyed stellar performance, hardly a flicker. Burnt bulbs, easily changed, a strand here or there, no problem. Ok, I’ll admit it. After successfully defying the odds for such a long time, I became a bit cocky, and so I suppose I deserve the humbling of 2004. This year the lights failed. “Well at least it happened before the other decorations were on,” I said calmly. The troops grew restless. A quick trip to the humbug store to purchase new lights ensues. Bonus! They’re on sale! The requisite purchase follows and soon the children are lovely again as they are busy placing decorations on the tree. All done, the wife and I bask in the glow of our handiwork. Love every minute of it.

Days go by and anticipation becomes focused on the substantive hope of this season—namely, the advent of our Lord. It is the most lovely of times. Carols in church and of course the Christmas program. The kids and choir do a great job. My shy child sang her heart out and as she left the risers exclaimed, “That was fun!” Elation! The eldest child concluded his chorus of Gloria's with a little air guitar. Classic move. Not sure if it would sit well with Chadwick, the carols translator. Oh well, his father is a product of the Eighties! Either way, it is a truly great day when you get to experience the joy of children singing praises to the One who alone is worthy. And you know, it’s funny how things work out. As we've focused our hearts in our celebration of the Light Of The World, over half of the lights on the tree have gone out.

posted by Grisby @ 3:28 PM