The Christmas Craze

I can't believe how early the Christmas craze started this year.  Black Friday is now Black Thursday.  Christmas commercials began airing on the TV and radio well before Thanksgiving.  Worst of all, Hobby Lobby has been selling trees and ornaments since July.  Really?!

Just before Thanksgiving Break, I had my students do a writing assignment about their favorite holiday.  I guess I shouldn't be surprised that every one of them chose Christmas, and when asked why, every one answered, "Presents!"

All of this seems to speak directly to the state of our culture.  Call it generosity, call it "the spirit of giving," call it "the joy of the season," or whatever else you want.  I'll call it what it is: greed.

Let me be clear: I'm not saying that everyone who gives or receives gifts on Christmas is greedy or wrong.  I am saying that our society has gotten out of hand.  This "living for what's next" mentality makes us forget the gifts right in front of our faces.  The irony of counting our blessings on Thanksgiving and then going out mere hours later to fill our closets and homes with more things we don't need blows my mind.  And yet, it makes sense.  Nothing causes me to devalue my possessions like a trip to the mall.  All of a sudden, my nice clothes aren't cute enough, our TV isn't big enough, and our house really needs that mirror or chair.

Growing up, my family never celebrated Christmas.  I hated it at the time, and I still don't agree with all of the reasons my parents chose for not doing it, but I now see the value in their choice.  The true joy of the season has gotten muddled in the mass card-sending, wild shopping sprees, expensive decorations, and Santa.  (I include myself in all of those things, by the way.)  We wolf down our turkey and dressing, it seems, and then (or possibly before then), we are quickly on to "better" things.

Back to my students and their writing assignment... They couldn't believe that my favorite holiday is Thanksgiving.  "Why?!" they asked.  "It's boring, and you don't get anything cool."  Why do I love Thanksgiving so much?  I guess because it's simple.  For me, there is so much joy in sitting around a table, eating good food, and laughing about pleasant memories.  No strings attached.

I'm not saying that I know what the solution to the Christmas situation is.  All I know is that it bothers me.

Maybe I'm a Scrooge.  But when I think of how much I have, how much I don't need, and all of the other nonessentials tied into this holiday that has potential for being so beautiful, I also think of people around the world who are just hoping for a meal on Christmas Day.  And then I wonder if just maybe, they have more going for them.  Here in America, our bank accounts are bulging (although significantly less so after the holidays), our bellies are satiated, and our homes are overflowing with "stuff".  So often, though, materialism leaves our hearts empty, and the quest for more never satisfies.

Granddad's House

I don't know why it has taken me six years to write this.

Granddad passed away in 2006, when I was a freshman at OU.  Cancer.  Such an ugly word and such an impartial disease.  As we have been celebrating the holidays, I've thought about Granddad more than usual.  And as much as I love everything about Thanksgiving, it isn't quite the same because we don't gather at his house. 

Granddad had the best house.  You could get lost in a book from his extensive library for hours, sit on the swing of his wrap-around porch as you sipped your morning coffee, wander down to the creek to shoot clay pigeons, or drive the golf cart downhill at top speed on the gravel road so that it almost tipped over.  Because Granddad lived in the middle of the country, you could blow up all of the fireworks you wanted on July 4th with no worries about setting anyone's house ablaze.  On Thanksgiving, Granddad would wake up in the middle of the night to check the turkeys in the smoker, and then his house would smell of cinnamon, pies, and pure deliciousness for hours after everyone left.  But what made holidays and other events at Granddad's special was not his house; it was Granddad. 

For a couple of years after Granddad passed away, we didn't sell his house, and my family continued to gather there to celebrate Thanksgiving.  We still ate savory smoked turkeys, fired shotguns, and played board games, but something (someone) was missing.  Everyone always laughed a little louder, listened a little better, and stayed a little longer when Granddad was alive.  His hospitality made people feel comfortable, and his selflessness made them feel important. 

Not only was Granddad kind, but he was smart- a rocket scientist, in fact.  He worked on the Apollo 13 Mission at NASA.  He was one of the very few people who, to me, didn't make Christianity seem cheesy or burdensome.  Because his life proved that "the ancient ways" of Jeremiah 6:16 are truly the best ways, he made me want to know God when everyone else made me question Him.

I still miss Granddad every day.  I wish he could have come to our wedding.  I wish Andrew could have met him.  I wish he had been at my marathon last week so he could "hug my neck" and tell me how proud he was.  I wish heaven wasn't so far away.

Mom and Andrew say that once we get to heaven, nothing else will matter but seeing Jesus.  True, I can't even imagine what a glorious day that will be.  However, I can't help but think that heaven will not be an eternity of sitting on the clouds as we play harps and sing "Jesus Loves Me."  (For the record, I don't think Mom and Andrew believe that, either.)  Since heaven is the completion of God's "making all things new," I want to believe that the things we enjoyed here on earth will be perfected there.  Before sin existed, Adam and Eve walked with God- and yet, they enjoyed each other's company.  One day when there is no more sin, perhaps we'll get to enjoy community again, in its perfected state.  Maybe one day Andrew will get to meet Granddad.  Maybe that's just me being naive.

Either way, I know that Granddad is reaping rich rewards for his beautiful life here, and I also know that everyone who knew him has a Granddad-shaped hole that won't completely be filled again.  I'm thankful for Thanksgiving and Granddad's house, but mostly I'm thankful for the 18 years that I got to spend with such an amazing man. 

 

 

 

Thankful

My blog has been quiet lately, as you may have noticed.  For one, I've been super busy.  Sixty-or-seventy-hour-work-weeks busy.  Wake-up-at-4:30-for-marathon-training busy.  (Good news: Andrew is making me work less, and the marathon is over.)  But really, I have just had a lot on my mind and have been unsuccessful in trying to collect my thoughts.

I've been thinking a lot about thankfulness.  I'm one of the many who has jumped on the "Thirty Days of Thanks" bandwagon and flooded Facebook with reasons to be happy.  The idea seemed dumb to me at first.  (Shouldn't people be thankful all the time??)  Honestly, though, I have enjoyed seeing the positivity on my NewsFeed every day, as opposed to snarky comments related to presidential candidates, or grumblings about one's terrible job/husband/kids.  More than anything, "Thirty Days of Thanks" has been good for my own ungrateful self.  In the midst of this crazy month of November, two stories in particular have reminded me that thankfulness has nothing to do with what you actually have and everything to do with the state of your heart.

One.

I stumbled across a blog of this woman whose daughter just died after being alive for four hours.  Four hours!  The thing is, Sarah knew that this would happen since Baby Evie was 20 weeks old and doctors discovered a rare and fatal disease in her.  Sarah carried her baby for almost 20 more weeks, knowing that it would die.  Wrap your mind around that for a minute.  Sarah's story amazes me because she never once complains about her situation.  She finds ways, however small, to be grateful.  You need to read her blog.  You'll cry your eyes out, like I have, and then you'll count your many blessings.

Two.

One of my students, Taylor (that's not really his name, and he may or may not be a boy), lights up my world at work.  Taylor comes to school dirty and hungry most days.  His parents, though supportive, are unemployed and undereducated.  They have at least a couple more mouths to feed at home, aside from Taylor's.  And they (Taylor included) are among the sweetest people I have ever met.  When Taylor gets to choose from my Treasure Box for good behavior (which he always exhibits), he could not be more excited.  I have silly little prizes in there, like Playdough or funky pencils, but to Taylor, it's a pot of gold.  One time, he chose a prize that another student had been eyeing.  "That's okay, Chris.  You can have it," Taylor said as he handed it over.  That's not all.  Our school recently had "Share Your Shelf" week for families who need food for Thanksgiving.  Taylor's family is exactly the type who would benefit from this food drive, but wouldn't you know- he was the only one in his class who brought something to share.  Thankfulness is not about what you have. 

Even as I sit in my warm, cozy house with my loving husband and a refrigerator full of food, my restless heart can always find reasons to complain.  (I don't want to clean today.  I hate making dinner.  My job can be stressful.  My marathon time was terrible.  We don't have a baby and I want one.)  Just within this month, I've realized that being thankful doesn't mean ignoring the hard facts of life- it just means remembering the blessings.  Maybe I hate making dinner, but we always have dinner to eat.  My marathon time was a personal worst, but I can run!  My job can be stressful, but at least I have one.  We don't have a baby, but we have each other.

Life is hard, but it's good, too.  In our current phase when things sometimes feel as though they are spinning out of control, a simple, "Thank you, God, for this life and XYZ" at the beginning of my days has changed everything.

Why are you thankful this year?

The Joshua Tree

Yesterday, one of my good friends asked me to stand next to her on her wedding day.  I couldn't be more excited or honored.  I met Jenna in fourth grade in Texas, and somehow our lives continue to converge so that now I share a classroom with this girl (who was also my college roommate) at an elementary school in Norman, Oklahoma.

Best day ever.

We're crazy.

I quickly started considering ideas for bachelorette parties, showers, gifts, and the like.  And then, a whole day and a half later, it occurred to me that I am supposed to give a speech.  Thankfully, I have all kinds of time to plan this (and if you know how wonderful terrible I am at giving speeches, you'll know that I should start now).  I have a high standard to uphold: my Matron of Honor's speech at our wedding was a knee-slapper and a tear-jerker at the same time.

People had plenty to say to Andrew and me before we got married.  Some advice was practical ("Learn some patience because Andrew is ALWAYS late"), some was noteworthy ("Dating shouldn't end when you get married"), some was perhaps unwarranted ("Wait at least a year before you get a pet or have kids"), and some was hilarious ("Buy Febreze odor canceling spray for the bathroom and wait to poop until after he leaves for work").  Some of it just stuck, particularly this:

Marriage is a lot of hard work.  

I didn't believe this in our first year of wedded bliss.  In my opinion, couples didn't have good marriages if they had to work at them.  The first year was an easy, "sleep-in-and-make-pancakes-every-Saturday" type of year for us.  Then life happened.  Marriage is hard because life is hard.  That's it.

I love this quote from The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls:

“One time I saw a tiny Joshua tree sapling growing not too far from the old tree. I wanted to dig it up and replant it near our house. I told Mom that I would protect it from the wind and water it every day so that it could grow nice and tall and straight. Mom frowned at me. "You'd be destroying what makes it special," she said. "It's the Joshua tree's struggle that gives it its beauty.”

I'm hoping and praying that our struggles, like those of the Joshua tree, make us more beautiful.  (They've certainly made us more humble.)  

Maybe the story of the Joshua tree isn't the kind of thing to put in a speech at a wedding, but it's oddly the kind of thing that I'll pray for my friends before they tie the knot, because everyone needs enough success to make them thankful but enough struggles to make them beautiful.