Righting a Seasonal Wrong 12/24/2023

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

It is Christmas Eve.  Don’t worry, I won’t keep you long.  I know that all the last-minute preparations are probably fully underway, and you are at the epitome of busyness right now. Then again you could have been one of those who take on the task early, much like my mother who has her Christmas shopping done by October if possible, and you’re finally able to settle into the semi-relaxed mode of the holiday, sitting back to witness the fruits of your labor. Usually by this point the hectic quality of the season has at the very least started to wind down. I know, there probably is still a bit of cooking to do. And there will definitely be some clean up come tomorrow once ribbons and wrappings are thrown about.  There will be post-feast duties as well, but they will be delayed as much as possible while people casually find themselves in the kitchen stealing bites.

No, I shan’t keep you very long today. You have all the things you likely need to be doing. I just wanted to share a few thoughts with you. I was thinking about the weariness that sometimes comes with all the holiday activities.  I know I myself have several times as of late, replied to the standard question of “How are you doing?” with a smile that feels like it probably looks a bit weathered, an exhale with an “OK” right in the middle. I’ll admit it. All the extra things going on this time of year can take a lot out of you. Usually, it’s a good tired but it is undeniable. But then, I began to ponder my response.  It began as a pondering, but I must say, it turned into an internal scolding.  While I was bemoaning all the goings on it occurred to me. Do I not also begrudge those times when we are going through the typical daily routine with no holiday or special occasion?  Don’t I lament the monotony when just going through the average activities on say a February 8^th or an August 12^th? 

I am sure, as I was having the conversation with myself, which is something I frequently do as there is always the chance that I am the only one who knows what in blue tarnation that I am talking about, I am sure that my eyebrows raised. It was quite the realization to learn that I am so fickle and ungrateful. I complain when living the day-to-day life as if I am so taxed by the usual routine of work and school, homework and dinner. I long for a change of pace and something to which I can truly look forward.  And then, here we are right in the middle of festive gatherings, programs, gift exchanges, parties, decorations and all sorts of merriment and I have somehow efficiently found a way to be wearied with that because now I, very ridiculously, seem to be pining for the duller times of average days.  As I type this, I am thoroughly frustrated with myself.  I can’t be satisfied with the simple structure of my usual schedule yet apparently; I can find just as much negativity when I am given a joyous and glowing break from the structure.  I am so disappointed in me.

No. I will not tolerate my own behavior. This is the season. This is THE season. I look forward to this time all year and I seem to have found a way to lessen its value. No. I will do my very best to make this Christmas live up to the honor it deserves. This is the birth of Hope. All these lights and candles are reflecting the Light in the cold and darkness. All this feasting and merry-making show us that the Hope of Joy even in the midst of the bleak winter is now a reality. The greenery in our homes shows us that Life will have its victory in the end despite however dead things can sometimes appear.  I need to revel in this. I need to embrace whatever activity or bustle that comes with this season because the remembrance of its meaning is worth my wholehearted investment. If it fills up my schedule this time of year, so be it. Joy, which is far beyond anything shallow happiness ever thought about being, often takes conscious effort. Let me put in the effort to shine as brightly as candles and tinsel and show that we have countless reasons to celebrate.