Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men

Goodwill to Men

The crowd was in a rioting mood. Several old women were trampled as the police tried in vain to hold back the crowds. Is this the description of war torn areas of the world or race riots in the 1960’s? No. Just the scene at Wal-Mart the day after Thanksgiving.

One year as I stood in line with my basket full of various electronic gadgets, I watched two men wrestle for the last DVD player in the store, and I found myself wondering,

Is this really how we celebrate the season of peace on earth, goodwill to men?

And when did the size and expense of gifts grow to include things like furniture and cars and even houses? When did our children start making out Christmas wish lists as if they were order forms?

When did we start feeling obligated to attend every Christmas party held by anyone remotely related or even just acquaintances?

When did we decide that it was our personal responsibility to make hand dipped chocolates for everyone in our extended family and our neighborhood?

When did we start doing all the decorating ourselves so our home was professional and artistic looking instead of filled with fond memories?

One December, haunted by my neighbor’s perfect decorations, I decided I would hide all the cardboard stars and shellacked pretzel ornaments my kids had made in school and decorate the tree with a theme. It would be perfect; I decided. I generously let my children help, but since I had kept out only the ornaments I deemed acceptable, we were finished quickly. My daughter stood back and with the practiced eye of a second grader said, “Something is missing.”

“Oh?” I said with a surprised look, smiling inwardly about how clever I had been. Still, the tree did look a little forlorn.

A half an hour later I heard my daughter shouting that she had found them. “They were in the bottom of your closet,” She announced with a suspicious stare. She hurried to hang them then stood back with a satisfied smile. She was right. The tree did look better. Maybe the only theme we needed was her happy face.

Another year, I was waiting in line to pay for my groceries, when a magazine advertisement with a brightly decorated gingerbread house caught my eye. In my minds eye I envisioned each of our extended family gathered around the kitchen table enjoying hot chocolate with marshmallows, while my gingerbread house sat in the middle sending out Christmas vibes all over the room. In a wild moment of what can only be described as insanity, I decided I would make a gingerbread house for every relative in the family. I might have even made a couple more for friends.

The next four weeks were a blur of gingerbread walls that refused to stay together, and powdered sugar on every surface in the house including the ceiling.
In the end, even though my houses were nothing even close to the one I saw in that magazine, at least I had finished them. I took my offerings to the relative’s houses heady with the feeling that I would give something meaningful. Something that might even become a tradition that would be remembered for years.

Instead, each relative smiled politely when they saw the gingerbread house, put it on an out of the way table and immediately forgot about until they saw the dilapidated thing sometime around Valentine’s Day and immediately chucked it.

I still can’t stand the smell of gingerbread, but the bigger lesson was that I had wasted the entire Christmas season and not enjoyed one minute of it with my family.

I once heard someone say that when we say Yes to one thing, we are saying No to something else. After that year I started using the Yes and No rule for all my holiday activities.

In other words, if I say Yes to making hand painted Christmas ornaments, I am saying No to running out into the snow to catch snowflakes and build a snowman with my son.

If I say Yes to putting up the tree by myself, I say No to singing Christmas carols while decorating with my children.

If I say Yes to home made baked goods for the entire neighborhood, I am saying No to a quiet chat around the kitchen table with my daughter.

If I say yes to a huge Christmas dinner with matching nametags, I am saying No to an unhurried reading of the Christmas Story from the book of Luke with my family.

If I say Yes to staying up all night to sew matching outfits for my children on Christmas Eve, I am saying No to a rested and patient mother on Christmas Day.

If I say Yes to spending huge amounts on presents, I say No to my children learning unselfishness and gratitude.

If I say Yes to racing around after that mythical perfect Christmas, I say No to peace on earth, goodwill to men.