When Christmas Isn’t the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I thought I’d be better by now. I don’t know why it’s so hard this year. I feel like I’m on a ladder whose bottom has been chopped off and I just can’t get out of this pit…

Christmas seems to be the most horrible time of the year if it isn’t the most wonderful, like the song says. 

As I continue to accompany my grieving friends, it makes sense to me that a Christmas list once fulfilled in a time that has passed, is very heavy indeed. Especially with well wishes, short days and long nights, wistfulness for love and burning hearths, romantic and cheery songs, and Hallmark movies doing their darndest to keep everyone but well-paid actors in miserable shape. 

I took this picture on Christmas Eve. It captured well what I have been pondering. The task at hand.

 Knowing that life has ended (and how) or that it will end one day, will you still choose to celebrate? Can you? 

The painful ending is already known and displayed for all to see in the background. In the foreground, the Christmas tree urges us to celebrate the beginning, the present, and the future. Each seems to be in its rightful place. Background. Foreground. Past. Present and future. Grief and joy seem to insist on co-mingling.

I’ve noticed a temptation to hold on to sorrow. It seems more honoring of the one who has gone or our painful pasts. To leave sorrow behind seems to betray depth of love and pain and grief, especially if it is perceived to be a lessening in any way. But does one emotion honor love or pain better than all others? Perhaps, we can choose. 

This day, I will honor you with my ________________.

Sadness. Joy. Laughter. Tears. Creativity. Memories. Adventure-seeking. Christmas lights.

I took this picture on my walk tonight. I can’t help but wonder about the atmosphere inside this home outlined by Christmas lights-just enough to separate it from the surrounding landscape. What do the lights mean for those who hung them? 

I don’t know and will probably never knock on that door, but I know what they mean to me. And since I am writing this post and nearing the end, I’m going with faith - that when the sun has set and light is waning, we can continue to remember the light of day and lives well-lived and keep them burning until the sun rises again in the morning. With joy and sorrow and whatever the day may bring.

Christmas Baking - One More Reason I Need a Savior

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and I get what they mean.  But, the problem is that most are used to tell a story that needs a lot more words to tell.  Especially when the picture is "picture perfect", but the story isn't.  Take this one, for example.

I'm pretty sure if I get to go to Heaven, and suffering has redemptive power because the Lord made it so, any merits I may be found to be in possession of have been earned here.  At this three feet of kitchen counter space.    

Looks benign enough.  Something on the stove, something in a bowl, and cookie cutters ready to go.  So far, so good.  I was "feeling it" and even texted my Mom pictures of her cookie cutters because she hasn't seen them in years and hasn't used them in decades.  

This doesn't stop me from thinking of her every time I get them out.  She told me that the silver ones were her Mom's, which reminded her of her own childhood - making taffy and laughing together, all while burning their hands because it was too hot to handle.    

A couple of weeks ago, I dreamt about my Mom.  She was standing in a kitchen with a cookie sheet in her hand, and it must have been Christmas cookies on that cookie sheet.  Only I don't remember, because I couldn't look away from her.  All I could do was cry and say, "Mom, you're so tall!"  over and over.  I haven't seen my Mom standing in almost 25 years, so it was something to behold.  I guess if you're lucky, Moms and Christmas cooking just go together.  I'm pretty sure this is why I thought making cookies and candy on Christmas Eve was a sane idea.  A gift for my children.  A memory for another day.

So, I did.  Well, I started to.  Ever made cinnamon candy or any kind of candy that is supposed to reach the hard-crack stage?  375 degrees to be exact.  How can something with three ingredients be so hard to make?!  2 hours later and enough burned sugar to go around, I was encouraged to try again.  This time with a metal plate under the pan to more evenly distribute the heat.  In the meantime, I made the Christmas cookies and helped the one boy who was interested in helping realize his mistake.  He was pressing too hard, needed more flour, blah, blah, blah...

Another two hours, a cold 325 degrees, and a pan full of nothing-good-to-eat later, I shut the fire off and walked out the door.  And kept walking.

I felt like my head was going to explode.  Maybe there was more than one source of burning smell in my kitchen?  Being in the kitchen way longer than I planned (when it's embarrassingly painful to begin with), and watching everyone else moving freely about the cabin doing whatever the heck they wanted, put me in a very Un-Christmasy mood.  

During my walk, I told myself that nothing was wrong.  Nothing.  No one made me go in the kitchen or stay in the kitchen.  That was all me, for the ones I love.  Can't you tell by my joy?!

My thoughts were flooded with visions of people I know who can't leave their beds or who are sick, or who are grieving someone they love.  And yet, somehow, knowing this didn't make what I was feeling disappear.  It lingered, and I felt like a crappy human being.

As I neared home, I'm pretty sure my unsuspecting neighbor would have just waved instead of asking if I was ready for Christmas, had she known she was going to hear about two failed batches of candy, five hours in the kitchen, and the need for a very brisk walk!  Sorry, Sherri!

I placed my hope of renewal and forgiveness in the children's Christmas Eve Mass we were planning to attend at 5:00.  Feeling good about arriving 15 minutes early was short-lived.  We were directed to the parish hall.  Overflow seating.  We got a good seat, but the view was still from a camera in the back of the church, which lagged throughout, and whose microphone seemed only to pick up the sound of crying babes.  

But, no matter.  Still got to receive the Lord, and be really grateful that the one friend I invited to Mass didn't come!

Once home, cookie decorating seemed to be just the thing to rectify the day, and hopefully, will be the only thing I (and my boys) remember...Except, that we need a Savior.

Days like today remind me of my own imperfection.  That I can be well-meaning and yet, totally derailed by inconsequential things.  It also reminds me that my hope is not in myself, but in the One Who made me, and in the One whose birth we will celebrate tomorrow.  Well, isn't that good timing...

                                              Merry Christmas from my kitchen to yours!

   

Buy Your Own Boots: Staying Married at Christmastime

I'm just back from an hour-long walk in the rain.  Needed the exercise and to blow off some steam. My dog didn't even want to get out of the car to hit the trail.  That's a new one.  But, it was necessary, rain or not.

It was necessary because my husband and I had kabobs for lunch last Thursday.  I know, it's Sunday. It probably seems like a weird detail to include.  I wish it was.  But, the Thursday lunch is still relevant because we're just getting over it.

Lunch was going well enough, but then...

What do you want for Christmas?

Popular question this time of year.  I said that I actually considered the guitar lessons I'm taking to be my present, since I am so excited about them and they're expensive.

But, then you won't have anything to open on Christmas morning...

Ok, some earrings would be nice.  Or brown boots, like the black ones I'm wearing.  Or my favorite shoes in brown.  Or a new guitar...

But, how would he know what kind of boots I like?  Size?  Color?  Style?  Fit?

Well, it's no different than anything else, unless I pick it out myself.  There's a chance I won't like it, and it can be exchanged.  I'm a size 10.

But, he doesn't want to get a gift that's likely to be exchanged...

Well, I'd rather spend a day shopping with you than have something to unwrap anyway...

But, the damage was done.  He thought I was being difficult and I thought he was being irrational. The cold good-bye kiss felt virtuous because I waited to leave until we were finished eating, when I wanted to walk out in the middle of the meal.  

So, the walk in the rain.  There were some puddles that engulfed the trail, which I was able to tiptoe around on the way out without submerging my foot completely.  But, not so on the way back.  Maybe I was a little tired, but certainly less careful, and the cold water filled my right shoe twice over.

As I walked on with my squishy shoe, I was thinking how easy enough it is not to have a squishy shoe (when was the last time you had one?) and how stepping in a puddle you are trying to avoid is like some moments in marriage.  You can see trouble coming, but try as you might, you can't avoid it. And then, you're in it.  All was well, then rainy, but manageable, then just soaking wet.  

As on time as it could be, a tree, twenty feet or so off the trail, broke off near the top and crashed to the ground.  Yep, I thought, in the throes of making marriage metaphors.  Another perfect example. Don't get enough of what you need some of the time, too much of what you don't need other times, and 20 years later, the top falls off and crashes to the ground.  Poor tree.  It just divorced the forest.

I was the only witness, but it did make a sound.  

Here's the thing.  We're not trees.  We have thresholds like they do, but they don't have feet like we do.  They can't move closer to the things they need or farther away from the things that bring them harm.   And even when we use our feet to step in it up to the ankle, we can still move.

Sometimes moving toward understanding is really loud.  Like a tree smashing to the ground.  Like this morning.  In trying to get back on the same page, voices were charged, and not just our own.  The boys, unaccustomed to such vigorous discussion, were yelling "Shut up!" from a bedroom.  This is not allowed in our home, but apparently they thought the rules had changed, at least momentarily. Although there was no change in the rules, what had changed was they were all in one bedroom, and not fighting.  Nothing like a common enemy to strengthen the bond of brotherhood.

I've been married for fourteen years.  I intend to stay married.  But, sometimes, we have to fight for it. We have to move toward what is important.  Because, we're not trees.  Because we can, and we must. Sometimes, it gets loud and requires a walk in the rain. But, it is always worth it.  Even if it means you buy your own boots and swamp them in a puddle every now and then.


May the God of endurance and encouragement 
grant you to think in harmony with one another, 
in keeping with Christ Jesus, 
that with one accord you may with one voice 
glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Romans 15:5-6

Christmas Beggar

Am I the only one that clings more and more tightly to my identity as a child the older I get?  And maybe (certainly) it has nothing to do with my getting older, and everything to do with my parents getting older.  Trips back home to Kansas and big meals together have always felt like they would last forever.  Until now.  It has finally dawned on me that there is far less time ahead than behind. 

We usually only make it home twice a year, so we typically exchange Christmas gifts while we're there for Thanksgiving.  Only this year, there was no exchange because I brought nothing to exchange.  I thought working was my excuse, but my sister and sister-in-law both have three kids and work full-time and had beautifully wrapped presents for all.  Excuse B?  Ugh.  Empty-handed, again.  "Hey!  Can these school pictures of the boys be everyone's Christmas gift?  I can write their age and grade on the back."  Lame.

In discussing my empty-handedness with my parents, the "burden" of time and money that Christmas often carries came up.  If everybody buys for everybody, we're up to twenty-two on one side alone!  We talked about misplaced materialism (if there's ever a good place for it), and how it overshadows the celebration of Christ's birth.  Meanwhile, our desire for simplicity remains frustrated. 

Before I had children, this effort to maintain simplicity played out as gifts for grandchildren, but nada for their parents.  They were grown, after all.  The only problem was it didn't go over very well.  I wanted to passionately condemn the selfish grown-up kid-now-parent, but I couldn't.  Honesty prevailed.

I'm a grown woman with my own children, and I'm embarrassed to say it, but "I don't want to be left out."  Not by my parents.  Siblings?  Fine.  Friends?  No problem.  Boys?  To be expected.  Husband?  Different story, but not the point here...

There are only three people who know me as a daughter (I am very blessed to have a step-mom, who has been a mother to me in every way).  Four people know me as sister and some as friend, but the rest of the world knows me as a wife and mother.  Most of the time, my identity is as a member of my family.  Most of the time, I'm okay with that.  Thrilled about it even.  But, while I have parents living on this earth, I want to be remembered as their daughter...That person who existed before she married and bore children.  That girl who sat on laps, napped in the closet, pooped by the apricot tree, and loved Smurfs. 

As a mother, I pray that I will always have the desire to recognize and remember my sons as individual gifts from God, particularly on their birthday and at Christmastime.  Whether they become priests, husbands and fathers, businessmen or bums, part of their identity will be as a child of mine.  I want to honor that.

I'm not saying I need lavish gifts or great gestures.  I don't.  But, seeing a gift tag with my name on it, in their handwriting, means everything to me.  The gift tag could be on a pack of lifesavers or a diamond necklace.  Whatever it is doesn't matter.  It symbolizes their thought of love for me - plucked from a particular moment in time and placed gently in the hands of many moments.  Exactly the number of moments that exist while I gaze upon, eat, wear, use, or remember it.

I recognize my hypocrisy and feel embarrassed needing this from my parents.  My gifts are often crappy and always late.  I don't have money, very little time, and every created object seems a mockery of the depth of my love for them.  Besides that, they don't seem to need anything from me.  I don't understand their selflessness.  Until I consider my own children, that is.  I don't need anything from them, either.  I don't need their gifts to understand their love.  Their Dad and I gave it to them in the first place.

So, how does the mother-in-me achieve simplicity, while not depriving the little-girl-in-me of her desire to be loved and remembered?

I think she starts by being honest in admitting her need, which she has done.  From here, I 'll probably bring everybody in on the conversation (if only they'd read my blog!), and see how it goes.  As for Christmas within my four walls, I got an awesome bit of advice from a co-worker today.  She said some families keep Christmas simple by ascribing to the following criteria for gifts.  Each person can ask for four things:

   1.  Something you want

   2.  Something you need

3.  Something to wear

4.  Something to read

 

(Yes, it rhymes!)  

 

"Boys, Santa is scaling back this year!" 

 

Until then, it feels good to name my desire for simplicity and love (especially from my parents at Christmastime) .  On one hand, it is humbling because life is more comfortable when you can meet all of your own needs.  But, on the other hand, it seems like God's perfect design that we are not what we wish to be - sufficient unto ourselves.  As our parents model God's love for us, we are right in knowing that we can never outgrow it.    

 

 

Dear Heavenly Father of my parents and me,

 

Thank you for days to celebrate gratitude, families to share them with, and people willing to do the lion's share of the work to make it possible!  Thank you for my parents, whose love is the closest thing to your love that I know.  Please bless them for their fidelity to You and their generosity with me.  Please forgive my selfishness, and the imperfection of my love, and grant me the grace to improve upon it.  Please comfort and guide all children whose parents have gone ahead of them, and feel orphaned or alone.  Finally, Lord, please show me how to achieve the desire for simplicity You have placed upon my heart, as I remember and await the First Coming of Baby Jesus alongside Mary and Joseph.  Thank you for all.  Amen.

Living Paycheck-To-Paycheck In a Little House at Christmastime

It's Christmastime.  Lots of beautiful pictures of beautiful people in beautiful places.  There are Christmas parties, well-lit trees, fires in fireplaces, and drinks for all.

Unless there isn't...

Without any direct proof, I suspect a large majority of us live paycheck-to-paycheck.  I also suspect that most of us feel poorer at Christmas than at any other time.  When you live paycheck-to-paycheck, a Wish list is your nightmare and a credit card's dream, and if you're not lucky enough to have good credit, it's simply a list of Things-I-Don't-Have-Enough-Money-to-Buy (which really isn't helpful any time of the year).  It's all-too-easy to look around and wish you lived in one of those big, beautiful houses with endless presents under the tree (that are already paid off).  And, if you succumb to your looking around, you allow yourself a long ride on the one-way swing from the "Have" to the "Have-Not" tree.

But, wait.  If you happen to be poor this Christmas, just barely making it, or one of those who thinks everyone else's Christmas is bigger, more beautiful, more Christmas-y, or more perfect than yours, venture with me to my childhood mind, for just a minute... 

I have never lived in a big house by American standards, but have only lived in mansions if you're from any other country on the planet.  As a little girl, I remember dreaming about dormer windows and a house with an upstairs.  I loved the thought of a big house, and the idea of all of those rooms, although I couldn't figure out (and still can't) what they might all be used for.  I have never lived in a house that had a room that wasn't used every day, but, I remember driving by big, beautiful houses, and wondering "What is going on in there?" and thinking, "It must be wonderful, whatever it is."     

However, I've grown up, and have spent some time considering what it is that drew me to those big, beautiful houses.  And, I've discovered it!  I always assumed there was more love in a big house.  I imagined something delicious baking in the oven, and someone who took the time to make it.  I imagined a group of people around a table, smiling and laughing (Ironically, all in one room).  I imagined the thoughts, the words, the interactions, the food, and everything in between,  to be beautiful and full of love.  

Pope John Paul II quoted Dostoevsky when he wrote, "Beauty will save the world."  I think I have learned why beauty is so powerful.  It is because someone cares enough to make an effort.  Beauty is the product of Love.  Whether it is the flowers that someone cares enough to water, the cookies someone cares enough to bake, or the decorations that someone cares enough to hang; the love and the someone behind it is where the real attraction is. 

I can still appreciate looking at a big, beautiful house, but I would no longer trade it for my own.  I now know that the someone(s) inside are the real source of my interest.  Scraping by or filthy rich, little house or big house, I have someone.  Many, in fact.  And if I continue with my suspicions, I suspect you do, too.  Celebrate with me, if you have even one person who loves you.  And read this poem any time the world tricks you into thinking you are poor.  Especially if you are living paycheck-to-paycheck in a little house at Christmastime...

If all the world were mine to plunder

I'd be content with just one town,

And in that town, one house alone,

And in that house, one single room,

And in that room, one cot only,

For there, asleep, is the one I love.

-Ancient Sanskrit Poem 

Dear God the Father, Thank you for sending Baby Jesus in His humanity.  Thank you, Mary, for saying "Yes".  Thank you, Joseph, for stepping in and stepping up.  Thank you, Jesus, for being born in a stable.  Not in a mansion.  Not in your own little house.  Not even a room in the inn.  Thank you for showing us that "love grows best in little houses".  Strengthen us as we guard our eyes, that we may not look away from the blessings in our life for any reason, least of all to look longingly at ways you've blessed another.  Please give us the grace to be that someone who strives to make the effort to love, and add beauty to the lives of those around us.  Thank you for those who do this continually, and for their example.  Please be with those who don't have even one by whom they know they are loved.  Let them be known and sought after.  Thank you for the wealth you've given us in those we love.  You know we would not trade them for any amount of money.  God bless us all - the poor who are poor, the poor who are rich, the rich who are rich, and the rich who are poor.  Amen.

Zero Desire to Please My Children

I woke up with the same feeling I went to bed with last night - I'm frustrated with my kids.  We were given free tickets for the hayride at Santa's Wonderland (A Christmas light display with "over a million lights").  I've been wanting to go for years and haven't because my husband is vehemently opposed.  So, last night, we went with Grandma and a friend of hers.

The lights were awesome and worth the money we would have paid for the tickets.  No doubt about it.  But, a few things along the way crept in and insidiously stole my joy.

Walking the football field-length gravel parking lot, in the dark, carrying a 3-year-old, and trying to get the older two to STOP throwing rocks and playing tag between all of the pedestrians and parked cars, was #1.  It might not have been so bad, if I didn't have to grab my boys by their coats before they heeded my voice.

The gravel-lined path for the hayride waiting line also proved too much temptation for little boys.  They HAD to pick up the rocks and fill the one hood between them, in between trying to kick them a reasonable distance.  No problem, except the aforementioned line is full of people in close proximity.  Fun.  #2.

After a reasonable wait, we happily climbed aboard the hayride on the second trailer, the farthest away from the diesel fumes.  The moment we've all been waiting for...  We were getting ready to go under the first tunnel of lights, but I had to cajole my 3-year-old to look at it, as he was looking at the ground move underneath the back tire.  He was cold, but refused the jackets I brought, and was that "I'm ready to go home" kid about 1/3 of the way through.  #3.

We completed the light tour with many oohs and awes, some musical chairs on the hayride, lots of "I'm ready to go home, now's", and overwhelming appreciation that the entire light display ended with Jesus rising from the tomb (a resurrection/ascension combo, if you will).  Jesus Christ got the most important "spot" and for this I was uplifted.  At least, The reason for the whole production had been remembered, and honored.  I was happy for Jesus.

To make the night complete, we agreed by consensus, that we would drink some hot chocolate by the blazing bonfire, and listen to some live music.  I volunteered to stand in the hot chocolate line and everyone else settled in by the fire.  15 minutes later, I rejoined the group, looking forward to melting away the remnants of the early accumulation of trivial irritations. 

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Oldest is pouting because he needs a straw (#4), youngest is sad because it's too hot to drink (#5), and I can't really relax because I'm holding two cups of hot chocolate (#6).  As comforting as holding one warm drink is, holding two screams, "You cannot relax because things are not as they should be!"  I was officially in my 3-year-old's camp, "I'm ready to go home, now!"  On the way out, my middle son begged for kettle corn because he was so hungry (#7).  Sorry, I just spent $13.50 on hot chocolate.

~After writing the first paragraph, I recognized the problem.  I have been wanting to go to Santa's Wonderland for years.  My expectations were simply to high, from the get-go.  I wish I could have recognized and released myself from those ugly, little things!  That doesn't mean that my kids shouldn't have been better behaved and more appreciative - these are things parents should expect from their children!  But, the fact that they fell short highlights the areas where I've fallen short.  Maybe that's another reason I wasn't able to let go of all the little stuff, like I supposed I should.

I don't ever remember being ungrateful as a child.  Wait.  Would I remember that?  . 

Anyway, I'm sitting here this morning, with zero desire to please my children.  My efforts yesterday proved that they can't be satisfied.  So today, for now, they're on their own.  Maybe I'll feel differently after I offer my prayer...

Dear Heavenly Father, Thank you for the awesome light display at Santa's Wonderland and for the finale, Your Son, Who lives and reigns, forever and ever.  Lord, I am frustrated with my children's lack of obedience and gratitude.  Every morning, I offer you my life, including my boys and my parenting.  I have already done that today, but I am doing it again, now.  Lord, please guide me.  Help me to practice Your mercy and love.  Please give me the wisdom to know when and how to discipline them, so they may be pleasing to You (and to us).  Please forgive my impatience, ingratitude, and failures in charity.  I love you.  Amen.       

Day After Christmas Ponderings

Just chillin' the day after Christmas, listening to a Mariachi Pandora station blare from my nephew's phone, and a fire crackling in the fireplace.  After watching the boys open their presents yesterday morning, I spent the bulk of the day in the kitchen.  Biscuits and gravy for breakfast, caramel corn for snack, turkey, sweet potatoes, and apple pie for dinner (My in-laws brought the rest).  As I was enjoying the solitude of the kitchen while remote control helicopters and Nerf sword fights swirled about, I wondered (for the millionth time) if I should be more "engaged" in the robust activity of my boys.  More and more, their activities stray from my interests and abilities. 

After pondering this throughout the day, I came to the conclusion that my biggest role now, and in the foreseeable future, is to be a positive force in the kitchen.  To be available to listen, welcome, love, and "light up" when my boys enter the room.  Unfortunately, food and its preparation are of the utmost importance to my family, and yet, one of the things I am worst at. 

I hate this irony, but have yet to figure out how to get around it.  I have a friend who is a personal chef and have proposed washing her dishes, just to be in her kitchen and glean some little nugget here and there.  We'll see what comes of that...  Meanwhile, I'll keep trying, and baking, as I can't seem to go wrong when sugar is one of the ingredients.

On a separate note, this Christmas has been one of the best for me.  After my brief self-centeredness episode (as detailed in the Stuff of Life post), this is my first year to feel totally detached from material things come Christmas Day.  There was nothing I wanted, nor expected.  The adults in the family previously agreed that we would buy for kids only this year.   I wasn't expecting to be, but I'm a big fan.  The end result was less pressure, less stuff, more money, and a palpable peace.

To be honest, I don't think I could have imagined being so happy receiving nothing before this year.  One of my continual goals is to detach from all things, and this year, God granted me the best gift of all - the joy and peace of detachment.  I am not going to guess at how long it will stay or presume that I am officially "detached", and can move on to other spiritual pursuits, but I am extremely thankful to have experienced it for at least a couple of days. 

If I needed another reminder that things don't bring lasting happiness, all I had to do was watch one of my sons unwrap all of his presents (a real gun and a telescope in the mix) and stand in the middle of the living room, looking a little sad.  When I asked him what was wrong, he said "I just didn't get to unwrap very many presents this year."  Ugh.  Maybe he would like to try the "Get nothing for Christmas" experiment next year. :)

New Year's Day is around the corner, which always leads me into a review of my life and looking for areas to renew or replace.  I'm sure I'll be writing again soon...

Merry Christmas to You!

Dear Heavenly Father, Thank you for Baby Jesus!!  Thank you for sending us a Baby to adore and love.  Thank you for salvation, Jesus in the Eucharist, time with family, fires in fireplaces, warm houses on cold nights, and grandmas two doors down.  Thank you for grace and peace.  Please teach me how to give my children good things without encouraging them to expect lasting happiness from them. Help me teach them that true happiness and peace come from You and You only. Please help us find You in each moment.  Help us recognize "the point of intersection of the timeless with Time."  Lead all souls to Heaven, especially those in most need of Thy mercy.  Amen.

Slowing Down To Celebrate Christmas and the Sacrament of the Present Moment

It's Advent.  A season of waiting and preparing our hearts to receive The Infant Jesus on His birthday.  How can I prepare a dusty and cluttered room for a King?!  It seems more than a little bit beyond what I am capable of.  But, I know I can't (or at least shouldn't) do nothing.  So, I need to begin by sweeping it out and letting some fresh air in.  In other words, I need to go to confession.  I need to acknowledge and let go of all that is ugly, selfish, and stained. 

Once I've cleaned His room as much as possible, how can I celebrate His arrival?!  Simply by being with Him.  Slowing down to joyfully receive all that comes, without rushing ahead or lagging behind.  To bear in mind the words and ideas of St. Francis de Sales:

We must attend to the business of life carefully, but without eagerness or overanxiety.  Gently flowing rivers bear barges with rich merchandise.  Make haste slowly.  We are always soon enough when we do well.  Accept the duties which come upon you quietly, and try to fulfill them methodically one after the other.  Remember the productive honeybee, who quietly goes about its business, while the bumblebee just makes noise.

If I can slow down, I can begin to celebrate the sacrament of the present moment.  It is a perpetual victory for Christ when one is aware of His presence in all things!  It is foolish to think He is pleased to be an afterthought and that He doesn't mind waiting until I'm finished with everything and everyone else.  If we remain unable to see Him in others and ordinary circumstances, He will always be last.  Reserved until the end of the day, when all of the others climb into bed, and we're too tired to pay Him any worthy attention at all.  

"The power of the most High shall over-shadow thee (Luke 1:35), said the angel to Mary.   This shadow, beneath which is hidden the power of God for the purpose of bringing forth Jesus Christ in the soul, is the duty, the attraction, or the cross that is presented to us at each moment."   Fr. Jean-Pierre de Caussade, Abandonment to Divine Providence

If I can get his room in shape and slow down enough to spend time with Him there, only one question remains.  How can I bring Him to others?  By taking Him in the love which wraps our daily acts of kindness.  If those who receive them ponder the love, if they question the love, if the love they feel gives them pause, they will find Christ from Whom all love emanates.

If we can accomplish these things (Cleaning the King's room, Slowing down, Living in the present moment, and bringing Him to others),  We will honor Christ's birth and His life.  We will be like His Mother. 

Dear Baby Jesus and Savior King, Help me to prepare a room in my heart that is worthy of You.  Help me to slow down and attempt only one thing at a time.  Please give me eyes to "see" You in every person and circumstance.  Please give me the grace to be more like Your Mother.  I don't want to leave You for the end of the day, when I don't have anything else to give.  I know how I fare without Your Help in this, for that is where I am today.  Thank you for your mercy, patience, and love.  Thank you for trusting humanity enough to come to this world as an infant.  I am in awe of You and I love You.  Amen.