Unwrapping Love

By Amie May

"Where are you Christmas
Why can't I find you
Why have you gone away
Where is the laughter
You used to bring me
Why can't I hear music play"
 
Those words come straight from the lyrics of one my favorite Christmas songs, Where are you Christmas? Christmas time can be and is a depressing season for many people. Strained family relationships become more apparent. Our tasks lengthen, and our "to do" lists grow. We feel stretched, unable to meet our own needs as we struggle to fill the needs, wants, and expectations of others.
 
In our rush to find the ‘perfect gift,’ we thoughtlessly run past and push aside other shoppers. What are we truly hoping to give—or get? What do we gain in achieving our goal?
 
There's nothing like watching my children open a much-anticipated present followed by the squeal of excitement when their wish is granted. I hope, though, that I’ve been able to teach them, somehow, that Christmas isn't about the material gifts.
 
I grew up as a child of divorced parents. Both of them remarried fairly quickly, and this caused me to adapt to separate households rapidly. Even so, living with the pain of never having them both within reach at the same time again caused me great emptiness. I felt an internal craving, yet I was unable to fill the hunger—especially during the holidays.
 
Each home had its own separate way of experiencing Christmas. In one, Christmas was a story. "Kris Kringle" was an orphaned baby raised by elves. Children in a local village suffered under the oppression of a heartless ruler. I could relate to their sadness because I felt a longing for freedom from what felt like a thousand pound weight upon me. Kringle snuck into town bringing toys and fleeting moments of joy for the children before the ruler confiscated them. Eventually, the ruler himself had a change of heart and joy swelled up in all their lives. What a beautiful fantasy to partake in once a year. I felt that joy could be 'real'.
 
I wanted nothing more than to spread that same joy to others. Although when I was very young, I'm not sure how much joy resulted from wrapping my stepfather’s already-owned tools for him as gifts. I don’t know if my mother enjoyed the bubble gum rings I bought for ten cents. Whether or not it worked, they made it seem as though it did. I think that Christmas was a dream that we all wanted to live, and for that one day we did live.
 
Christmas was the perfect day, in my mind, to celebrate the birth of the world’s Savior. It felt like the whole world was working for peace, and this seemed to me to be an offering that would please him. After all, I thought, who do I want happiness for more than the Savior and God who had comforted me in the 364 days that weren't "Christmas?”
 
Even so, I doubted my own offering. I felt unsure that my heart and soul were good enough. They felt empty so often, and I was certain that he knew that.
 
We didn't celebrate Christmas in the other home. There I was taught that Christmas was the creation of human beings.  It was a single day set aside arbitrarily for a celebration that should be in our hearts every day.
 
This conflict caused me tremendous inner turmoil. I agreed that Christmas every day was a beautiful prospect and something I wanted to live. Yet, it just wasn't realistic. I didn’t feel that I or anyone could be so joyful all the time. Eventually, this discord left me feeling all the more wanting.
 
Used screwdrivers and aluminum rings lost their appeal as I aged. Presenting people with boxes of joy so that we could experience the Christmas fantasy together became more and more of a challenge. In many cases (such as with my brother's family) I became so sure that my offering wasn't good enough that I just quit all together. The experience of Christmas faded amongst all of the hustle and bustle of the season. I was convinced that I had failed his little ones as an aunt, and my voice joined a chorus of others in search of Christmas lost.
 
Now I see things differently, but I can't undo the past. Nor can I have a re-take on any of the other relationships that were affected over the years by my view of Christmas. There might be time for healing, but there is no returning to the past for a "do over."
 
I’ve had many opportunities for learning, and one of the pinnacles in my growth has been coming to know unconditional love. At times, the concept that God requires no offering of me is overpowering. I find myself awestruck, overwhelmed by the feeling of wonder. Isn't it astounding that God could and does love us just as we are—as Dr. Seuss wrote in The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, "without tags... without packages, boxes, or bags!" God’s love comes with no strings attached.
 
Even more wondrous is that God found me worthy of making an offering. Jesus gave himself as an offering in place of any that we might feel the need for, so that he might unite God and humanity.
 
Such a puzzling thing directly influences the reflection of me that I see in the mirror every day. Understanding my worthiness as God has revealed enables me to discover what I have been hungering for. It helps me to consider how I might fill my hunger. I am worth that. We all are, and this makes the fantasy of Christmas real; it is not an out-of-reach fairy tale.
 
As I wrap gifts with love for my family, I do so in remembrance. I remember the day that I wanted, longed for, and worked desperately to temporarily fill others and myself. Now that I see God’s comprehensive love I know that I can experience fullness. In knowing this satisfaction, I am able to provide my own children a gift that cannot be bought at a mall—the gift of peace within.
 
So in my own home we appreciate the holiday as a time of pause together, and a time of surprises.
 
"I feel you Christmas
I know I've found you
You never fade away
The joy of Christmas
Stays here in silence
Fills each and every heart with love"

May everyone find that which God has presented them: Love without condition. Amen.