December 17, 2003

• Grinch Night

  
  

  I started to entitle this piece, Crying in the Dark, you can tell me when I'm done which title works best.  Last night was Grinch Night at my kids' school.  The boys and I went and had a blast.  Hundreds of families gathered for games.  One of the teachers, dressed in a Grinch suit, read the classic story.  Then we all decorated Grinch Cookies, (Michael volunteered to eat mine for me ) and for the finale, we watched the animated Grinch film.  By the time we got back, Tim was arriving home from work, so he was pressed into service reading the story again.  The boys bickered a bit about which was the best part.  I think they finally decided that each version had it's high points and left it at that. 

  
  

  The "Christmas Spirit" has eluded me this year.  But I have to admit, I haven't been chasing it very hard.  I've cried over every Christmas Card I've received.  Expecially, some from my Xanga friends because I didn't sign up for any of the card exchanges this year, so the ones I received came from people who saved my address from last year.  That's special.

  
  

  I'm doing things that my children enjoy.  I've made a dozen or more batches of Christmas Candy.  We've made cookies.  We've kept most of the holiday traditions that have made the season special for the boys.  Over the next week, we'll do more and more and they will have their Christmas.  My husband has already given me an unexpected and very appreciated gift.  I have only bought a couple of presents.  Last weekend we took the kids shopping and they purchased the gifts they are giving each other along with the things they will jointly give to me and Tim.  They had a blast although Michael was disturbed that he didn't get more change.  

  
  

  As I walked around and looked at the displays, all I could think was "this is just stuff."  I didn't want to buy anything for anybody.  I know all that homiletic wisdom about it's the thought that counts, but really, what are people thinking?  This isn't a rant about materialism, it's deeper and sadder than ranting. 

  
  

  I keep thinking about Incarnation.  It's hard to step outside the familiarity we have with the story of Christmas.  Even in theological circles, the discussion and debate about the Nativity focuses on obscure details, in just what year DID Augustus order that Census?  What did Luke mean that Quirinius was the governor of Syria when we can't substantiate that from the historical record?  And come on!  The very idea that Joseph would take Mary to an Inn - in those days, an Inn wasn't like the Holiday Express with fresh linens and a coffee pot in every room.  An Inn was a place for ruffians and thieves, only a desperate person would even begin to consider such a place.  The Inn in those days was literally a campfire surrounded by bails of straw.  Here, honey, I know you've been on the back of a donkey for days, you're tired, you're in labor - how about we stay here where you can give birth in full sight of a couple dozen smelly guys who may or may not rob me of what precious few possessions I have before morning ... I digress.  Its not just that the story is improbable, it's that 2000 years removed from that culture and those events, we've made it all warm and fuzzy.  We think that the tragedy is that she was forced to give birth in a barn, when in truth that's the one thing that she probably felt most grateful for that night.  We don't get it.  I don't get it.

  
  

  I don't even get the historical details, how much less do I understand the possibility of what the story purports to reveal.  Incarnation.  I've had an idea that took off and became a reality, so I have a rudimentary grasp of the way that Incarnation looks like.  I've had words spoken that took on a "life of their own" so I can imagine something of what John was saying when he wrote that "the Word became flesh and lived among us ..."  But these are vague shadows beside the magnitude of the story of Incarnation.  

  
  

  Fifteen years ago this month, I married Tim.  Last night, I took the boys to their school function.  I wasn't the only Mom there without a Dad.  It wasn't the first time that I've taken the boys to do things that Tim couldn't join because of his work schedule.  Always before, I've known that maybe next time he'd be there with us.  Last night, it sank in to me that this is the first time that I haven't had the hope of next time.  This month we will celebrate Christmas - the Incarnation of God.  We will celebrate Tucker's birthday - the Incarnation of love.  We will celebrate our anniversary - the Incarnation of a promise.  I will ponder the meaning of all these things and wonder whether I really understand any of it. 

  
  

  I may have more nights like those of the past few days when I cry in the dark. 

  
  

  (You know, I like that ending, because it's true.  But I'm also uncomfortable with it because it sounds like I'm feeling sorry for myself.  I am feeling sorrow, but not self-pity.)

  • 7:31 am
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