Christmas in August

Don't think me a scrooge or anything, but it's becoming more and more difficult for me to get into the "spirit of Christmas".

Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about the meaning of Christmas, or the fact that my best friend, my savior, the forgiver of my sins, the one who gives me eternal life, the one whom I have dedicated my life to, came that day, became as one of us, Immanuel, God with us.

That I am really in sync with.

But....it seems like the "spirit of Christmas" (meaning sales, songs, and spirits to some) gets earlier and earlier every year. It seems like, more and more, our culture is "cashing in" on the season.

We end up the evening of December 25th, exhausted, tired and worn out from all of the festivities.

I told Debbie last week (tongue in cheek) that soon we'll be hearing about Christmas on my birthday in August. Christmas in August.

Today, I am driving down 159th and see Christmas signs on the light posts.

It is November 12th.

Again, a disclaimer. I do like Christmas. I like being with my family. I love giving gifts. I love the warm feelings I get as we celebrate the birth of Jesus.

But, am I right that we have tagged on so much, that it is beginning to lose it's meaning and purpose for our lives?

I'm reminded of the story of a woman was doing her last-minute Christmas shopping at a crowded mall. She was tired of fighting the crowds. She was tired of standing in lines. She was tired of fighting her way down long aisles looking for a gift that had sold out days before.

Her arms were full of bulky packages when an elevator door opened. It was full. The occupants of the elevator grudgingly tightened ranks to allow a small space for her and her load.

As the doors closed, she blurted out, "Whoever is responsible for this whole Christmas thing ought to be arrested, strung up, and shot!"

A few others nodded theirs heads or grunted in agreement.

Then, from somewhere in the back of the elevator, came a single voice that said: "Don't worry. They already crucified him."

Let me give you a story that might help in reestablishing the true meaning. How that plays out in your own individual life and family - I can't help you with - but perhaps this story might jump start you to jumping into the arena of a true "Christmas spirit."

"It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.

It all began because my husband, Mike, hated Christmas—oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it: overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute, the gifts given in desperation.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties…. I reached for something special just for Mike.

Our son Kevin was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church.

These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear.

It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. We ended up walloping them. As each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.

Mike shook his head sadly. "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them." That's when the idea for his present came.

That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed an envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me.

His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas. Each Christmas, I followed the tradition—one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year giving a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas.

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas.

It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning, and our children would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the envelope never lost its allure.

The story doesn't end there. We lost Mike due to cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was so wrapped up in grief that I barely got the tree up. But on Christmas Eve I placed an envelope on the tree, and in the morning it was joined by three more.

Each of our children had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelopes.

Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us."

May you be blessed in the next 42 days, with the true spirit of Christmas....

With much love,

George