So this is Christmas

So. It's Christmastime. Again. But what does that really mean? Crowded shopping malls? Obligatory office parties? Struggling with tree stands and tangled lights and snowflake garland? Sure, all of that. But what else?

For some people it is a lonely time, but for me it's just the opposite. I never feel more crowded than I do at Christmas. Expectations and rituals abound. Presents to wrap. Candy to make. Carols to sing. I go through the motions, but most of the time my heart isn't really in it.

I guess I've just become one of those cynical people all the holiday movies are made for. It's not that I don't love my family. I do. But I see them ALL THE TIME. And yes, maybe they're not as backward or as annoying as the "hollywood" version. But what ever happened to peace on earth? Where is my peace when I've got twenty people in my living room, leaving me nowhere to sit in my own house? Dishes stacked to the ceiling for me to do after they leave. How much family is too much?

And let me tell you, un-decking the halls isn't nearly as much fun as decking them. Which is why the lights always end up in a tangled mess, only to cause frustration for the next year. Same with the snowflake garland and the busted tree stand.

Maybe my problem is that I just can't get over the sadness that I'm feeling because of Kendall's coma ... and now her failing heart. Yes, I'll admit it. The show has started to affect my mood, even when I'm not watching. I've been crying with Zach all weekend because I just want Kendall to wake up! Not for me anymore, I want it for him.

So I'm bummed out, stressed out, broke and utterly out of the Christmas spirit. Bah, humbug!! And then I stumbled across this picture of my precious little nephew, Clayton ...

... and it reminds me of a conversation we had last year. We were talking about God and he innocently asked me who that was. I told him God was Jesus' father. And he immediately asked, "What's his mother's name?" I hesitated for a second, trying to figure out how to explain omnipotence to a four-year-old. In the end, I just said, "We don't really know about Jesus' mother." To which Clayton replied simply, "Mary."

Out of the mouths of babes, indeed.

So there you have it. The true meaning of Christmas, brought home by the simple innocence of a child. He remembered what I'd forgotten ... what I'd taken for granted after all these years ... Christmas is about Jesus. It's about the day God became man. The day a pure, perfect, innocent life came to this earth to die a horrible, unjust death so that we might live. It's about a man and woman willing to let themselves be used by God to change the world forever. It's about love, people. And peace and hope and charity.

Jesus is still the reason for the season.

Merry Christmas, Clayton. And Happy Birthday, baby Jesus.