The Stuff of Christmas

     Today I introduced the song “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” to Bryan for the first time.  He thought the song was ridiculous.  He’s probably right.  It doesn’t exactly scream Christmas, but there is a certain childlike charm to it, all the same.  Our conversations inevitably turned toward the childlike joy that can surround the gift-giving of Christmas, probably spurred on, in part by the fact that I was also wrapping the last of our Christmas gifts.  While there’s plenty of conversation to be had about the, ahem, commercialism and overemphasis on well, just stuff that accompanies Christmas, Bryan made an observation on the joy of a child opening gifts on Christmas.  He noted that children seem to have so much more excitement surrounding the receiving of gifts, more or less because they are not able to obtain those gifts by their own means.  
     In light of the true spirit of the season of Christmas, I think of the impact that God’s gift to us-- grace, mercy, salvation-- can have on our lives.  A gift that we cannot and do not have the means to obtain on our own, nor can we fully grasp without the gentle leading of the Holy Spirit.  It’s a rather simple, almost obvious observation to make about this time of year.  Yet, I can’t help but be aware of how the simplicity of the message can get crowded out by all the extra stuff.  And I’m not talking, this time, about the materialism of the actual gifts. I’m talking about the cookie baking. The Christmas tree decorating. The driving-around-and-looking-at-Christmas-lights.  The Christmas card sending. The Christmas carol singing. Yep, I’m guilty on all accounts.  I love me some good ol' Christmas traditions, and it will probably continue to get worse as Anika gets older.  (sorry Bryan!)  But, these things mean nothing-- seriously, absolutely, positively nothing, if not for the joy, the shepard-quaking, heavenly host-singing joy of our dear Saviour’s birth.  At the risk of trying to over spiritualize cookie baking, I see through the midst of all of this stuff  to the heart of a people who try to emulate that joy in as much merriment as they can possibly produce (or mass produce) through the traditions and events of the season.  Because it should, and often does, lift one’s soul to higher heights, right into the heavenlies, to think of Jesus, at birth, was already, perfectly, irrevocably, our Lord. And we respond sometimes in the best way we know how--with our stuff.