A Little Christmas

Tinsel. Thin glass balls with glitter. A village with tiny skaters. Bubble lights. Do you remember Christmas? Any Christmas.? Right now, it seems like a faraway memory—something that rings like a distant bell in our hearts.

I overdo Christmas. My bathrooms have winter decorations. One is snowmen and the other is pine cones. I have a stuffed Santa that will roll on the floor giggling. We keep him turned off because he can get obnoxious, but he’s still there on the settee with the other singing, bouncing, flying Santas, snowmen and a moose or two. I no longer have the Christmas castle snow globe ornament. It was an unChristmasy pink and had a tune that annoyed me more than giggling Santa, so I gave it away. But it isn’t possible to miss it among all of the other glittering, glowing, moving, and still décor.

I think of it all, now, because we have lost so much this year. Peace and goodwill have left us. Laughter is uncommon. The news media seem to love our losses. They seem to glory in first telling us how they are casting out fear, then giving us all of the fearful news they can find. It has gone on so long, it doesn’t even matter whose side is which or what head is nodding solemnly taking up his middle third of the television screen. I look at the other two thirds. I want to hang tinsel down each side, dress it up with a sparkling ornament. I’ll put a Santa hat at the top in the middle. Maybe the opinions will seem happier, the news less dire.

I’m old enough to know that everyone has an opinion. I am aware we have injustices to address and diseases to worry over. But I am not surprised that there are true stories of warring sides taking a Christmas break to wish each other peace and goodwill. We need such a moment.

Last Christmas, several of us attended a Christkindlmarkt. It is put together like a German festival. Little booths offer wares, there is food and ice skating and entertainers in national costumes. While there, my son in law bought his wife a little stuffed bear for her collection. The bear came from a booth for Hanukkah, not traditional Christmas, and had a sweater on that celebrated his holiday. Later, the family gathered and the bear perched on the arm of my daughter’s chair. In our family, it is not unusual for bears and dolls to talk, voicing their own, often unusual, opinions. The bear sat in the midst of glowing Christmas so thick there was hardly room for people and complained that nothing in the room greeted him.

Have you ever seen a family drop their jaws in unison? Well, ours did. Because I took my son-in-law to the garage, pointed up to a high shelf and asked for a box. I unpacked the box, pushed the gold glitter deer and pine cones ornaments aside, and set up a menorah.

“There you go!” I said to the bear.

Crowded into a room surrounded by a large Nutcracker music box, a Victorian village, three decorated trees, at least that many glitter-covered deer, with food and presents blocking us in like an unopened tin of anchovies, we paused. I know the first thought was Gramma Sandy has a what!?

But then a strange thing happened. People started taking pictures of the menorah and sending it to their Jewish friends and wishing them a Happy Hanukkah. They know we aren’t Jewish. They know our faith is in Jesus. But the plastic menorah, something I keep just to show to children when teaching about the ancient Jewish nation, acknowledged that people of diverse faiths can love each other, that the golden rule is not predicated on agreement.  The little bear in his blue sweater brought us closer to who and what we should be.

And that is why, right now, I am missing that sometimes frantic season of too much food and too much money spent and too many lights and ornaments that lead to sweeping up tiny pieces of fake tree until August. Because in there is a lesson of loving your neighbor, of having a moment of goodwill for all, a time of seeing our brother as our brother and wanting only the best for him. Right now, we need a little Christmas.