It’s hard to believe it’s time to kill the poinsettias again. It seems like just yesterday I was throwing out my four pots full of crackly red petals and crunchy green leaves.
My blackened thumb and I torture poinsettias yearly. Watching these tropical beauties die slowly of thirst is one of our family’s holiday traditions—along with choosing Christmas trees that lean to the left, stalking houses fully decked out in Christmas lights, and savoring my first sip of Hood eggnog nuked for precisely 45 seconds. Our latest “tradition” included saying, “No, M&M” until he finally understood that our 17-year-old Disney ornaments weren’t “toys” and Hubby’s childhood bulbs weren’t “bouncy balls” dangling from the tree.
Hmmm… Just what are my top 12 traditions of Christmas?
- Taking a shivery, dark walk through the Living Nativity to watch “Jesus” (who looks like he rode a motorcycle instead of walking with disciples) ascend by pulley into the “clouds”
- Hiding behind the kids (or the camera) in our family picture that we rarely get out by President’s Day, if at all
- Watching the little people battle over who’s building the gingerbread house, who eats the first candy cane fence post, and how long they must wait before devouring the whole thing
- Opening our first Christmas card, unwrapping the first ornament, baking the first oatmeal lace cookie
- Hearing Brown Sugar sing “Same Auld Lang Syne” (okay, not your typical children’s Christmas carol, but the saxophone solo gets us every time)
- Yelling, “That’s it!” with Lucy; making the jingling sound that I didn’t know falling needles make; lisping, “Lights, please” with Linus; crooning, “Loo-loo-loo loo-loo loo-loo-loo”; and screaming “Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown!” with the whole Peanuts gang
- Watching Rudolph overcome bullying and showing my little people that nice guys and (reindeer) finish first
- Four words: Schermer’s chocolate-covered pecans (does a hyphen make it one or two words?)
- Deciding who gets to put Baby Jesus in the manger Christmas Eve before watching the Nativity Story
- Eating sausage-and-cheese balls during the Christmas parade
- Turkey, dressing, giblet gravy, ham, macaroni and cheese, cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole, collard greens, rolls, sweet potato pies, cakes, Christmas punch
- Nat King Cole’s “O Holy Night,” Aselin Debison’s “The Gift,” Keith “Wonderboy” Johnson’s “12 Days of Christmas” and my pastor’s high note in “Silent Night”
And not necessarily in that order.
There are also newer customs I don’t love: calling Mama on Christmas Eve for her gravy recipe rather than watching her stir, wincing as she scratches the finish in her black, nonstick pot; hearing how good my mother-in-law’s pork shoulder is instead of dipping it into my father-in-law’s secret sauce and nibbling on it for two days; rushing delivery of my Christmas gifts because I can’t personally enjoy my nieces and nephews opening their treasures. These traditions are more frustrating than forgetting D-volt batteries, navigating Christmas traffic, and hearing “Santa Baby” get more radio time than “Away in a Manger”—all rolled up in a ball of wrapping paper.
Some of our traditions elicit warm-and-fuzzies; others the heebee jeebees. Yet I love something more than topping the tree with our caramel-colored angel and our glistening star. I don’t include Him on a list because He’s not a tradition, a custom, or a habit. He’s not annual; He’s ever.
JESUS.
His isn’t a birth I celebrate; He’s the Life I live. His love is thicker than water because it’s His shed blood. His embrace is sweeter and warmer than the Lone Ranger’s favorite hot chocolate.
I don’t make a point of spending all my money or no money at all; His love didn’t cost me anything but…everything. Whether it refreshes like fresh spring rains, smothers like the oppressive stillness of July, or stings like the crispy, pine-scented atmosphere of December, He is the air that I breathe. The bells on my door jingle His Name, our Douglas fir points to His heavens, and the lights illumine His way. But I hear Him, see Him, and know Him throughout the year, so I don’t have to remember to put Him first once a year.
JESUS…JESUSS…JESUS. First, last, all.
Yes, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, but it always feels just like Jesus to me.
“Jesus said to him, I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” John 14:6
Love your perspective. Jesus is all! Thanks for sharing.
You are fabulous. Love reading the stories of your life and how the centrifugal force that keeps you spinning with grace is our friend Jesus. Keep writing friend!