I’m surrounded by papers, address books, labels, and writing deadlines tugging at my pant leg and asking me why I’ve abandoned them like a glove in a pile of hats and scarves. I hear the call of Christmas cookie ingredients begging to jump into a bowl, to become something delectable so they can sit alongside their friends: the ten dozen or so I baked yesterday that are sitting on the kitchen table in tinfoil and tins, patiently waiting to be delivered. And I hear the laundry spinning from the basement as my head spins louder…
I’ve missed something. I knew things would get crazy. It always does. But I thought I was ready. I thought I knew what to expect and how to handle it all so I wouldn’t get overwhelmed and sucked into the rush of doing Christmas instead of being Christmas. Wait a minute. Where’d that come from and what in the world does that mean? Being Christmas??
Hmmm. “Doing” is action. Bake, mail Christmas cards, write a Christmas story, shop etc. (And do the laundry and cook dinner of course.)
“Being” has to do with our very existence. In other words, it cuts through the stuff of what we do to get to the heart of who we are. Interesting.
So being Christmas would mean something like be loving and forgiving like Jesus, the One whose birth it represents.
Anyone popping into your head that you can be more loving toward or someone you can forgive? What a great time to do it. The sounds of “I love you,” and “I forgive you” sound a lot better than the timer for the cookies, the buzzing of the dryer, and all the songs playing at the mall combined.
I dare you. I dare you to be Christmas this year.
And I dare me too.