Ample Pie
Fattitude Problem
Contrary to what Francis Xavier Cross might think, I am the biggest fan that Christmas ever had. Even as a non-Christian. In fact, I am more excited about the Christmas season this year than I have been since I was a kid. Don't get me wrong, Christmas spirit has always (and likely will always) run rampant in me; this year it's just a little rampanter. (yes, I know that isn't a word.) I find myself driving home from work in the morning, listening to Christmas songs, enjoying the way the season has faded the sky and the ground and the trees (now with no leaves) to a nearly uniform shade of grey. I find my heart leaping with joy over the fact that only the evergreens are green anymore. I simply adore the way the bare trees and their bare branches look like skeletal hands. And, yes, I assure you I'm serious.
Christmas is my element. It is my favorite time of year. The older I get the more lonely I find myself to be in this aspect amongst my peers--probably because adults don't get as many presents and probably because adults don't believe in Santa. I don't believe in Santa or Jesus but here we are, knee-deep in November, and I'm excited to the point of goose bumps.
I was driving home from my brother's house two days ago having an imaginary conversation with my sister in law. She's religious in a way I never have been and in a way I will never understand. Though it isn't my place to understand so I guess it doesn't matter. The point is that she thinks I'm a dirty old sinner. A heretic. She's thought so even before I realized I don't believe in Jesus. And she doesn't even know I don't believe in Jesus. She's holier than I (what's the archaic form of "I," anyone know?) in a very literal way. Fine. I don't care because I still get to play with and baby-sit my nephews. That's joy. Anyway...this conversation was a sort of defense of who I am from the point of view that she has no right to dislike who I am since she has never taken the time to find out exactly who I am.
The gist of the convo-rant centered on just how much I believe in the spirit of Christmas, the spirit of human decency, in miracles, in love, and in joy. Because at my core, I really do believe in these things. I am 100% an idealist in a very real way. I think if she saw that or appreciated that, she'd see me in a very different way. Maybe, then again maybe not. Doesn't matter. I love Christmas and I love what it means to me--essentially those elements I named above. The thing is, even I didn't realize just HOW important Christmas is to me until I had this convo-rant.
In listing the proofs for my point, out loud but sadly alone in my van, it hit me that Christmas has slipped into very many areas of my thought. I never considered it before this convo-rant, but both of the names I have been secreting in my heart for children I'll never have come from Christmas. I can't have kids, yeah, but I'm still a woman. If I ever had a little girl, I'd name her Lily Noel. Lily because my mom's name is Susan and Susan means lily. Noel because of Christmas. And if I ever had a little boy, I'd name him Zachery Paul. Paul because both of my brothers have the middle name Paul and Zachery because of the Christmas song A Baby Just Like You. Now, of course, in the back of my mind I've known that both of these names have elements of Christmas, but I'd never really put it together.
And I'm not a poser either. I don't just love the showy trappings of Christmas--the bangles and balls and garland and toys. I'm a hardcore Christmas lover. My favorite Christmas songs are the most traditional and the least secular. I love Rudolf The Red Nosed Reindeer (after whom I named my cat) and Frosty The Snowman, but I much much much prefer The First Noel, What Child Is This, O Holy Night, Adeste Fidelis, O Little Town Of Bethlehem, It Came Upon A Midnight Clear, etc etc. Even the more contemporary songs that I most adore (and I assure you I really do adore them) are very traditional and non-secular in theme. The Gift* (by Aselin Debison) and The Peace Carol and A Baby Just Like You (both by John Denver and the Muppets) are all songs I listen to throughout the year. They're very beautiful, very inspiring Christmas songs.
From the time I was 5, the story of the birth of Christ has made me weep--openly and with much joy. At five, I used to wrap myself in a blue sheet and kneel by this old brown milk crate that I pretended was a manger. Inside, some swaddled doll would be playing the part of Jesus. Over and over in the background, Away In The Manger, which was my favorite song at the time, played on the phonograph. That's right, folks, when I was a kid, I played Mary and Jesus...at least as often as I played "house" and far more often than I played "doctor." In fifth grade, I wrote a play of the Christmas Story. I made the 'costumes' and when Christmas rolled around, I put the play on in front of my family--my whole family.
The question is—Why? Why do I love Christmas and the Christmas story so much, especially when I don’t believe in Jesus and I’ve never ever been particularly religious? Why indeed. And here’s why: Because even if I don’t believe that Christ is the son of god. Even if I don’t believe that a man travels the world in one night giving presents to little children, I DO believe in the power of decency and simple kindness and I DO believe in miracles. Do I think Jesus was born in a manger with so little but then went on to give everything he had and become the light of the world? Not necessarily. Do I believe that at his birth, a drummer boy played a song because that was the best he had to give? Not necessarily. Do I believe that a poor orphan girl named Maria gave to God the song of a nightingale she rescued because that was the most beautiful thing she had? Not necessarily.
I don’t even know if any of these people existed. What I do believe is that the most precious thing we can give of ourselves is ourselves, our time, our honest thought, our consideration, our humanity. And the idea that there was someone, or is someone, who adores that and honors it above all else is inspiring. Christmas is decidedly Christian, but this concept of giving of one’s self, one’s very core, is universal. Jelaluddin Rumi wrote:
Today, like every other day, we wake up empty and
frightened. Don't open the door to the study and
begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.
And, essentially, that is what the little drummer boy does in The Little Drummer Boy and that is what Maria does in The Gift. Essentially, that is what Christ did himself, if you read the stories, even if you only read them as fiction. They had nothing at all, but still found something to give. They gave of themselves--not just what they could afford (since they couldn’t afford anything anyway), but what they loved, from their very hearts in the truest sense. To me, there is nothing more valuable. There is nothing more wonderful or inspiring. This is why I love Christmas. I see the red and green shimmer and I think/feel/hope/dream/believe that maybe there is a bit more kindness floating around. More joy. More miracles.
Simply, I believe in Miracles. Whether you call it Santa or God or whatever. I believe in Miracles and at Christmas time, they feel more tangible to me. It makes my heart hurt, wanting to burst with joy and hope. It makes me cry, as I am now listening to Judy Garland sing Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. And I think, at my core, I like to believe that if we take away the houses and cars and clothes and status and hectic schedules and strip ourselves down to nothing but soul, we are beautiful—and we each have the potential to be Miracles.
*A poor orphan girl named Maria
Was walking to market one day
She stopped for to rest by the road side
Where a bird with a broken wing lay
A few moments passed ‘til she saw it
For its feathers were covered with sand
And soon clean and wrapped it was traveling
In the warmth of Maria's small hand
She happily gave her last peso
On a cage made of rushes and twine
She fed it loose corn from the market
And watched it grow stronger with time
Now the gift-giving service was coming
And the church shone with tinsel and light
And all of the town folk brought presents
To lay by the manger that night
There were diamonds, incense, and perfumes
And packages fit for a king
But for one ragged bird in a small cage
Maria had nothing to bring
She waited ‘til just before midnight
So no one would see her go in
And crying she knelt by the manger
For her gift was unworthy of him
Then a voice spoke to her through the darkness
Maria what brings you to me
If the bird in the cage is your offering
Open the door let me see
So she trembled she did as he asked her
And out of the cage the bird flew
Soaring up into the rafters
On a wing that had healed good as new
Just then the midnight bells rang out
And the little bird started to sing
A song that no words could recapture
For its beauty was fit for a king
Now Maria felt blessed just to listen
To that cascade of notes sweet and long
As her offering was lifted to heaven
By the very first nightingale's song
---
ps: I don't expect anyone to agree with me or anything, just posting my thoughts.
Christmas is my element. It is my favorite time of year. The older I get the more lonely I find myself to be in this aspect amongst my peers--probably because adults don't get as many presents and probably because adults don't believe in Santa. I don't believe in Santa or Jesus but here we are, knee-deep in November, and I'm excited to the point of goose bumps.
I was driving home from my brother's house two days ago having an imaginary conversation with my sister in law. She's religious in a way I never have been and in a way I will never understand. Though it isn't my place to understand so I guess it doesn't matter. The point is that she thinks I'm a dirty old sinner. A heretic. She's thought so even before I realized I don't believe in Jesus. And she doesn't even know I don't believe in Jesus. She's holier than I (what's the archaic form of "I," anyone know?) in a very literal way. Fine. I don't care because I still get to play with and baby-sit my nephews. That's joy. Anyway...this conversation was a sort of defense of who I am from the point of view that she has no right to dislike who I am since she has never taken the time to find out exactly who I am.
The gist of the convo-rant centered on just how much I believe in the spirit of Christmas, the spirit of human decency, in miracles, in love, and in joy. Because at my core, I really do believe in these things. I am 100% an idealist in a very real way. I think if she saw that or appreciated that, she'd see me in a very different way. Maybe, then again maybe not. Doesn't matter. I love Christmas and I love what it means to me--essentially those elements I named above. The thing is, even I didn't realize just HOW important Christmas is to me until I had this convo-rant.
In listing the proofs for my point, out loud but sadly alone in my van, it hit me that Christmas has slipped into very many areas of my thought. I never considered it before this convo-rant, but both of the names I have been secreting in my heart for children I'll never have come from Christmas. I can't have kids, yeah, but I'm still a woman. If I ever had a little girl, I'd name her Lily Noel. Lily because my mom's name is Susan and Susan means lily. Noel because of Christmas. And if I ever had a little boy, I'd name him Zachery Paul. Paul because both of my brothers have the middle name Paul and Zachery because of the Christmas song A Baby Just Like You. Now, of course, in the back of my mind I've known that both of these names have elements of Christmas, but I'd never really put it together.
And I'm not a poser either. I don't just love the showy trappings of Christmas--the bangles and balls and garland and toys. I'm a hardcore Christmas lover. My favorite Christmas songs are the most traditional and the least secular. I love Rudolf The Red Nosed Reindeer (after whom I named my cat) and Frosty The Snowman, but I much much much prefer The First Noel, What Child Is This, O Holy Night, Adeste Fidelis, O Little Town Of Bethlehem, It Came Upon A Midnight Clear, etc etc. Even the more contemporary songs that I most adore (and I assure you I really do adore them) are very traditional and non-secular in theme. The Gift* (by Aselin Debison) and The Peace Carol and A Baby Just Like You (both by John Denver and the Muppets) are all songs I listen to throughout the year. They're very beautiful, very inspiring Christmas songs.
From the time I was 5, the story of the birth of Christ has made me weep--openly and with much joy. At five, I used to wrap myself in a blue sheet and kneel by this old brown milk crate that I pretended was a manger. Inside, some swaddled doll would be playing the part of Jesus. Over and over in the background, Away In The Manger, which was my favorite song at the time, played on the phonograph. That's right, folks, when I was a kid, I played Mary and Jesus...at least as often as I played "house" and far more often than I played "doctor." In fifth grade, I wrote a play of the Christmas Story. I made the 'costumes' and when Christmas rolled around, I put the play on in front of my family--my whole family.
The question is—Why? Why do I love Christmas and the Christmas story so much, especially when I don’t believe in Jesus and I’ve never ever been particularly religious? Why indeed. And here’s why: Because even if I don’t believe that Christ is the son of god. Even if I don’t believe that a man travels the world in one night giving presents to little children, I DO believe in the power of decency and simple kindness and I DO believe in miracles. Do I think Jesus was born in a manger with so little but then went on to give everything he had and become the light of the world? Not necessarily. Do I believe that at his birth, a drummer boy played a song because that was the best he had to give? Not necessarily. Do I believe that a poor orphan girl named Maria gave to God the song of a nightingale she rescued because that was the most beautiful thing she had? Not necessarily.
I don’t even know if any of these people existed. What I do believe is that the most precious thing we can give of ourselves is ourselves, our time, our honest thought, our consideration, our humanity. And the idea that there was someone, or is someone, who adores that and honors it above all else is inspiring. Christmas is decidedly Christian, but this concept of giving of one’s self, one’s very core, is universal. Jelaluddin Rumi wrote:
Today, like every other day, we wake up empty and
frightened. Don't open the door to the study and
begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.
And, essentially, that is what the little drummer boy does in The Little Drummer Boy and that is what Maria does in The Gift. Essentially, that is what Christ did himself, if you read the stories, even if you only read them as fiction. They had nothing at all, but still found something to give. They gave of themselves--not just what they could afford (since they couldn’t afford anything anyway), but what they loved, from their very hearts in the truest sense. To me, there is nothing more valuable. There is nothing more wonderful or inspiring. This is why I love Christmas. I see the red and green shimmer and I think/feel/hope/dream/believe that maybe there is a bit more kindness floating around. More joy. More miracles.
Simply, I believe in Miracles. Whether you call it Santa or God or whatever. I believe in Miracles and at Christmas time, they feel more tangible to me. It makes my heart hurt, wanting to burst with joy and hope. It makes me cry, as I am now listening to Judy Garland sing Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. And I think, at my core, I like to believe that if we take away the houses and cars and clothes and status and hectic schedules and strip ourselves down to nothing but soul, we are beautiful—and we each have the potential to be Miracles.
*A poor orphan girl named Maria
Was walking to market one day
She stopped for to rest by the road side
Where a bird with a broken wing lay
A few moments passed ‘til she saw it
For its feathers were covered with sand
And soon clean and wrapped it was traveling
In the warmth of Maria's small hand
She happily gave her last peso
On a cage made of rushes and twine
She fed it loose corn from the market
And watched it grow stronger with time
Now the gift-giving service was coming
And the church shone with tinsel and light
And all of the town folk brought presents
To lay by the manger that night
There were diamonds, incense, and perfumes
And packages fit for a king
But for one ragged bird in a small cage
Maria had nothing to bring
She waited ‘til just before midnight
So no one would see her go in
And crying she knelt by the manger
For her gift was unworthy of him
Then a voice spoke to her through the darkness
Maria what brings you to me
If the bird in the cage is your offering
Open the door let me see
So she trembled she did as he asked her
And out of the cage the bird flew
Soaring up into the rafters
On a wing that had healed good as new
Just then the midnight bells rang out
And the little bird started to sing
A song that no words could recapture
For its beauty was fit for a king
Now Maria felt blessed just to listen
To that cascade of notes sweet and long
As her offering was lifted to heaven
By the very first nightingale's song
---
ps: I don't expect anyone to agree with me or anything, just posting my thoughts.
