We
waited and it came and He came and it’s
over and I’m . . .
Okay.
Strange, how it
always used to bring on sadness, the end of the Christmas season. It used to feel so final, like it was simply
a beginning and an end and 335 long days until it all came again. I once dreaded the day after, when the enthusiasm
of it all was over and there was no more anticipation for what would be.
Strange,
how adulthood changes everything, with no exception for Christmas. Christmas, in fact, shines
a blaring light on the transformation that occurs with age and maturity, as we
go from waiting on Santa to becoming Santa to explaining Santa.
He
knew the truth this year. Said something
about the Easter bunny last spring and when he did, he used his ten year-old fingers to make
air quotes in the sky. We were shocked,
but not devastated. Amused, but not
annoyed. Truthfully, I found some relief
in discussing reality with my son. It
felt important, this exchange between parent and child, a way to cement our
relationship in honesty. It encouraged
me to embrace the fact that time marches on, while allowing me to explain to
Charlie that there is only one person I care about him believing in, and He
doesn’t deliver baskets of eggs or fill stockings with presents.
Christmas was different this year, and not just because I'm pushing forty and there has been no denial of adulthood for quite some time. There was less magic, less mystery for our family now that the oldest knows the truth and the youngest is more than a little suspicious. Yet I am grateful for the changes, as the receding magic and mystery seemed to give way to something much better . . . more meaning.
I
think that’s why Christmas is over and I’m
okay. Because Christmas as an adult
and a mother has come to mean so much more than the weeks leading up to the
twenty-fifth day of December . . . so much more than the excitement over celebrating
the birth of a baby. The birth of the
baby no longer means the holiday season is over. The birth of the baby no longer signifies the
end of the most wonderful time of the year.
Christmas
is over for another year and its okay because the birth of a baby is never an
ending . . . it’s always a beginning. And
this baby . . . He didn’t come as the finale to a month of merriment. He didn’t come as a conclusion. This baby came to start and finish and live and
be the most wonderful love story OF ALL TIME.
Christmas was different this year, and not just because I'm pushing forty and there has been no denial of adulthood for quite some time. There was less magic, less mystery for our family now that the oldest knows the truth and the youngest is more than a little suspicious. Yet I am grateful for the changes, as the receding magic and mystery seemed to give way to something much better . . . more meaning.
This baby means everything.
I will miss the world adorned in its holiday splendor, lights twinkling all over town to announce the arrival of the Light of the World. I will miss cards arriving in the mailbox each day and searching for surprises and songs about a silent night. Still, it is okay, because although the Christmas season is over, I no longer miss what I was missing all that time. I no longer miss Him.
For all. For always.
