An Un-Celebrated Christmas

I never got into the Christmas spirit this year.

It’s Christmas Eve, and I still have not. We didn’t put up a tree. We didn’t take out a single decoration. I didn’t write a Christmas card to anyone, at all.

There are a lot of reasonable reasons for these things: we moved, we’ve been busy, and all of our Christmas decorations are in storage. We could have gone and got them, but that seemed like too much work in the midst of packed schedules, a new job, and the fact that we always go “home” for the holidays anyway.

But really, my heart just wasn’t ready for Christmas this year.

To me, Christmas is about the wonder: The birth of the babe in the manger. The gift given to us that we do not deserve. The contemplation of The Story, not merely how I fit into it.

I could say that I didn’t have time to celebrate this season, but the fact is: I didn’t make space this year for wonder. 

I didn’t carve out time in the day to read about the child come to earth. I didn’t give my heart the time it needed for dwelling. I didn’t cultivate joy or behold Emmanuel as I should have. And so I am left without wonder and excitement. Without expectation and anticipation. Christmas this year is just another day.

And you know what? I am okay with that. I think every life has its ups and downs, its seasons of passion and of pause.

It’s somewhat unrelated, but then again not: I admire how Austin Kleon outlines the “Shape of Days” – and consequently, the shape of the life of an artist. [Click that link to see his diagram – it is beautiful]

Life is, at its physiological foundation, created from heartbeats: why wouldn’t Life-Capital-“L” manifest as a series of heartbeats, of comings and goings and beginnings and endings and wastings and renewals? Why do we expect it to be a constant crescendo with the apex at the very end, always?

No, Life is quiet and loud and then quiet again. It is as cyclical as the seasons, and even so within them. It quakes and stills, always.

And I think the Christian Life is, too. Seasons of passion and of pause, where faith is tested and stretched taut and then folded neatly again for a while.

And I am learning to be okay with that. 

To run to Grace. To seek Truth. And to love myself like He does, even in a waning season.

—

Need some words that inspire stillness? Try these:

A Counter Cultural Call for Quiet this Advent by Adam S. McHugh

“Mary Christmas” by John Blase at the beautiful due

My Week in Words by Callie Feyen (the first quote is how I feel sometimes, as a writer)