Merry Christmas!

Family photo from 1994

too busy...

It seems the holiday preparations have made me too busy to write; perhaps you are too busy to read. I hate that feeling, it is a feeling of being out of control. It is about this time each year I decide some of the sewing just won't get done and I wrap up the fabric with a coupon (just this week I sewed a skirt that I gave a coupon and fabric for to my daughter last year). Many years ago a friend shared this quote with me, which I now share with you:

"Let not our hearts be busy inns that have no room for Him."

sneak peek

When I was young I discovered one of my “talents” is the ability to open gifts without damaging the paper/ribbons, etc. This skill came in quite handy during my teenage years when holiday secrets became just too much to handle. I could open a gift for a sneak peek and restore the wrappings to their original condition with no one else the wiser for it. There was one year that I knew what was in every package under the tree. I was very good…

One year I was babysitting while my parents were away for the evening so enlisted my 4-yr. old brother, Jared, in the “fun activity” to pass the time. We talked about how exciting it would be, how to keep it a secret, all those things a criminal stresses to an accomplice. He was in, so I let him choose the first one. We opened only a few, since we expected my parents wouldn’t be gone too long. The gifts were back under the tree looking pristine when my parents got home. I winked and smiled at Jared as a way to remind him not to fold. But he just fell apart. He spilled the beans about the whole thing; my parents could hardly understand him through his sobbing.

Well, the truth was out and oddly, there was no fallout. My parents weren’t upset by what we had done, they figured it was OK with them if I wanted to ruin the surprise for myself… I comforted Jared and asked what had happened. Apparently he couldn’t handle the guilt any more than I could handle the anticipation. I was sorry I’d wounded his tender spirit.

Somehow the experience cured me of the anticipation woes and since then I haven’t had trouble keeping my anticipation in check. I rarely use those skills anymore, unless I forget to take a tag off or include a gift receipt; and then I don’t feel much excitement, I just think to myself, “Oh, bother; I should have used a gift bag.”

silent night

The earliest Christmas I remember was when I was five. We lived in Baltimore where my father was attending school. We lived in a row house on Pimlico Street, near the race track. The bedrooms were upstairs, mine was the one in the middle and had a skylight. How I loved that skylight! It seemed to be a window into the heavens and most nights I counted stars as I drifted into happy dreams. But not on that Christmas eve. I was very sick with an ear infection. Wisps of hair, damp with sweat, curled about my fevered face and if I drifted off to sleep it was only momentarily as pain roused me awake again. I stayed still and quiet so as not to wake the others sleeping in the next rooms. The hours dragged and I wondered if morning would ever come. The skylight was my friend and comfort during those quiet, ‘though not peaceful, hours. I studied the stars more carefully that night and let myself be carried away in my imagination to that “night of nights” when the Baby Jesus was born. Was I looking at His star through my skylight? Which one would it be? Certainly His would stand out; certainly His would be the brightest. It would be special enough for the wise men to notice and know that it was finally time to begin that long-awaited journey of a lifetime. I pondered the glorious multitude of angels whose music was most surely the finest human ears had ever heard. Did I get to hear it; could it be that I was singing with them? I thought of the humble shepherds, bewildered by it all but worthy of that distinct honor of being the first to meet their Savior. Would I be worthy? And then I thought of Mary and Joseph, so carefully chosen for their most important roles. What were they like; was there a special role in His kingdom for me?

Morning came and my fever broke. Although weak, I joined my family to open gifts and managed to eat a little, a rather anticlimactic day to follow the “silent, holy night” I had been privileged to experience. I don’t wish anyone illness during the holiday season, neither would I deny such an experience to you; perhaps there is a way to have one without the other. One silent, sleepless night to enjoy and forever remember the wonder that is our Savior’s birth. He is the reason we celebrate, but more than that, He makes living worth it, giving everything we do purpose and meaning, and making everything we are matter immensely.

part IV

Christmas Eve came. The whole family helped prepare a special supper, not as fancy as their traditional one, but so delicious. They played “name that Christmas tune” while cleaning up the kitchen together. There was barely enough time to read the Christmas story in Luke before phoning Jack. It was SO GOOD to hear his voice. He was happy, they would be baptizing a family of seven tomorrow! His excitement was contagious, “And they are SO golden!” Marcella enjoyed most of all hearing the things each of the children told Jack. They were all so happy to talk to him and share the special things going on in their lives. Jacob told him, “This is the best Christmas ever!” They said their “good-bye”s and “I-love-you”s and then a bit of sadness set in that their visit was over. The twins played some piano duets to cheer things up again and Jacob suggested they drive around to look at the lights, “Let’s go to some
new neighborhoods this year.” They even made a few surprise visits to those they knew would be alone that night. Snow started falling, a thick, fluffy snow that excited Jacob, “Hey, let’s build a huge snowman tomorrow!” At home, each opened the traditional gift of new jammies; no one seemed to care that Marcella hadn’t sewn them herself this year.
Marcella was surprised at what she felt inside. She couldn’t remember a Christmas Eve so, well, peaceful! She couldn’t remember a Christmas Eve that there wasn’t something keeping her busy until the wee hours. She took down the schedule from each door and threw them all away. As she and Jeff crawled into bed she smiled, “It sure was nice to talk with Jack tonight. I miss him so much, but he is doing well, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is, but we always knew he would be a fine missionary, he loves the gospel about as much as you love Christmas. You DO still love Christmas, don’t you?”
Marcy smiled and thought carefully before answering. “Yes, yes I do love Christmas just as much. I think I love it differently, I hope I love it in a better way. Jacob said something tonight, that this was the best Christmas ever. Did you hear that?”
Jeff did hear, and nodded, “Why do you think he said that?”
Tears welled up, “Because it HAS been the best Christmas we’ve ever had. Even though Jack is away and we didn’t even follow the schedule that supposedly guarantees a perfect Christmas, this one has been the best. Do you know why?”
“I think I do, do you?” He hugged her close.
“It has to do with what the angel said to the shepherds about peace and good will. They really do go together, but all these years I had their relationship mixed up. I thought that peace came from good will and that doing good things would bring me the peace of Christmas. I did more and more, I organized it on the schedule, I packed every minute of every day. But I had it all wrong.”
“How so?”
“Peace isn’t just a result, peace is the cause, the cause of true and lasting good will toward men. When I read the visiting teaching message I finally understood it, it was that scripture in John.”
“Which scripture?”
“From John 14 where it says, ‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
“And?” he prodded her to continue.
“I finally realized I could never have peace by being organized; the drive to be organized and make things ‘work’ was only troubling my heart. I was trying to do things the world’s way and it was crowding out the only true source of peace, the Savior. I’ve had to change my whole way of thinking. I’ve had to let peace, His peace, enter my heart. Instead of sticking to the schedule, I have let Christ guide me through the season this year.”
Jeff broke in, “He did a very good job; I hope you’ll let Him do it again next year!”
“I think I’ve learned my lesson. But I feel as though I have wasted the past twenty years. I’ve cheated everybody. I’ve even promoted those false notions of a ‘perfect Christmas’ to the sisters in Relief Society!”
Jeff laughed, “Don’t forget what happened at the ward party! They’re catching on, just like you did, and you helped them do it! Next summer you can teach a mini-class called ‘Having Peace During the Holidays’ or ‘A Christ-centered Christmas’, you’ll be a big hit, especially among the husbands; I know for a fact it has made a big difference to them this year.” Jeff got serious, “Our Christmases have always been ‘perfect’ but this year has been truly wonderful, peaceful! I love you!”
Marcy melted, “I love you, too. This really has been the best Christmas ever. And we have one glorious day left to enjoy. Tomorrow after we open gifts and build our snowman, let’s all go sledding on Bird Hill!”

part III

Sunday morning at PEC meeting Jeff learned that what Marcy had was part of an epidemic, seemingly spread by the visiting teachers. Fully half the sisters in the ward were infected. The bishop was quite concerned when he heard that Sister Simmons had it, “What about her schedule? Do we need to rally the Relief Society sisters?”
“I think the best thing is to just let it run its course.” Jeff had been a medic in the army and spoke with authority if not so much expertise.
“I agree,” piped up Sam. “My wife has it, too, and, well, uh,” he hesitated and glanced at Jeff before continuing, “it’s really not half bad.”
The bishop couldn’t see any sense in that; the sisters were dropping like flies. He was considering banning visiting teaching for the rest of the month. He tried to get to the bottom of things, “What exactly are the symptoms?”
Jeff paused before answering, trying to think of exactly the right words. Sam piped up again, “My Ellie is calm.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Jeff nodded, “calm… and happy!”
“Those are the symptoms?”
“Among others, but like I say, it’s really not BAD.”
Ed leaned over to the bishop and asked, “Would it be inappropriate for me to schedule an appointment for the visiting teachers to come see my wife?”
The bishop answered, “I think I’ll do that, too.” He made an announcement in sacrament meeting that day stressing the importance of visiting teaching, encouraging the sisters to get out early this month.
The ward party was different than any they’d ever had before. It was quit apparent which sisters had been visit-taught already, they were the calm, happy ones. Several of them were on the food committee which decided to go with a standard, no-stress pot-luck. The decorations committee was split. The “calm and happy” ones wanted to go the simple route, the others were pushing for bigger and better than the ward had ever seen before. Things were beginning to get heated when Ellie threw her arms around Sue and said, “I love you SO much, I want you to be happy. We can do it your way if it is really important to you, I don’t mind one bit!” That took Sue aback. Stunned she quickly calmed, then responded, “No… I think we should try your way this year.” And so the plain white table cloths were adorned with a simple sprig of pine and one shiny red Christmas ball. Even some of the men appreciated the result (especially Sue’s husband who was head of the clean-up committee).

part II

Marcy took it easy the next few days. She began each day listening to Christmas music while enjoying a hot bath. Some days she didn’t dress until noon, others she stayed in her robe all day. Tuesday she was in her robe taking some trash out when Marge from across the street ran over to her. “I heard you were sick, you don’t worry a bit about the neighbors, I already explained to them we won’t be getting our fruitcake this year; Edie even has last year’s still in the freezer. You just take care of yourself; we’d hate to lose the best neighbor we’ve ever had!” That was easy, Marcella thought to herself.
The few days stretched into many. She spent a lot of time reading. She began reading Jesus the Christ. She had read it in college and thought to herself then that she should read it every December. That was before the schedule. She puttered a little and put out a few decorations, just the really special ones. She cooked the kids’ favorite meals and made after-school treats. “Yes, they’re for you!” she happily declared, their faces so hopeful. One morning she spent at the temple; one afternoon she spent at the piano, playing every carol in every book of Christmas music she owned. That wasn’t on the schedule anywhere, but it brought back such memories of happy times, all long ago. One day she phoned old friends and neighbors, some she hadn’t heard from in years.
One afternoon ten-year-old Jacob invited her to go sledding down Bird Hill. He thought sure she would say no, Bird Hill was steep and high, his mother had quit sledding on it when she broke her leg there as a teenager. But she agreed and they had a marvelous time. They built a fire when they got home and had just toast and hot chocolate for supper. Jeff and the girls didn’t complain, it was such a treat to see Marcy so happy.
One evening Marianne, her fourteen-year-old, glanced at the schedule to see that Marcella was supposed to be wrapping gifts. Since she wasn’t, Marianne asked her if she’d like to hear the poem she wrote for school. It was a beautiful poem about the fire at girls’ camp. Marcella had no idea Marianne was so talented and creative. Marianne shared other things she’d written and Marcella shared some of her own writings from her high school days. They laughed, and cried, and hugged a lot.
Day after day her sewing machine lay idle; she never gave the schedule a second thought, it was as if she really didn’t care about it at all.

The Christmas Epidemic

Dear readers, I enjoyed a nice vacation over Thanksgiving and now, along with all of you, am in the throes of Christmas preparations with sewing to do, candies to make and lots of errands. For the next few days I will share a story with you in the hopes it will help you slow down enough to have a happy season!

Part I (of IV)

Marcella first noticed something different when she didn’t feel her usual thrill at the first sight of Christmas decorations at the mall. Not only was she missing her usual thrill, but she felt annoyed. For her, that feeling had never been associated with Christmas, which surprised her. She dismissed it as a natural result of the mall breaking the unwritten rule of holiday décor that prohibited the display of decorations for holidays still two celebrations away. It was the middle of October.
Marcella had Christmas all figured out, she was the quintessential expert. She had it so figured out that she had earned such nicknames as “The Queen of Christmas” and “Holiday Guru”. It wasn’t just that she loved Christmas more than anyone else, it was that she had it down to a science. She knew exactly what to do when, each day of December, to make the celebration perfect. And it had been perfect the last twenty years. Her detailed (and quite lengthy) schedule fit in everything anyone could possibly want in a Christmas season, from caroling to gingerbread houses, fruitcake to hand-made gifts. Her schedule reflected the best streets in which neighborhoods to see the Christmas decorations. She knew which sales would be when and the regular Salvation Army bell-ringers knew her by name.
By Thanksgiving Marcella was usually well-doused in Christmas spirit, but not a drop had landed on her this year. She dismissed it as missing her oldest, Jack, who was serving a mission in Panama. It was his first holiday season away. She reassured herself, “I’ll be all right with that first snowfall and carol on the radio.” Snow came, it was depressing. “What kind of name is Wenceslas, anyway?” she caught herself muttering to the radio.
She posted her laminated copies of the schedule on the back of every door in the house; she found it helpful for the family to know what she was up to (they found it helpful to know when to stay clear of her). “I must be coming down with something,” she thought to herself as she struggled for energy for the morning’s errands. Visiting teaching was that afternoon, hers were coming at one, she’d meet her partner and visit their four sisters after that. She glanced at the message, “Finding Peace Through Christ”. Peace, she thought, as she grabbed the keys and dropped for quarters in her pocket for the bell-ringer outside of Wal-mart. But as she walked toward the entrance, the sound of that blasted bell, which always before had been music to her ears, made something snap within her. She froze for a moment as sheer dread welled up inside and overcame her. Then she heard herself say out loud, “I can’t do it.” She went home to bed. She didn’t sleep, but thought, a lot, about a lot of things. She read the visiting teaching message again. She studied the scriptures, she read the rest of the Ensign.
Her husband, Jeff, came home for lunch expecting the smell of gingerbread. He glanced at the schedule, yes, he should be smelling gingerbread. He found Marcella in bed and ran a hot bath for her, then ventured to ask the question troubling his mind, “Marcy, honey, what about your schedule?”
“I just can’t do it,” she explained matter-of-factly. “I can’t explain it, I just can’t do it.”
“That’s OK,” he reassured her.
Visiting teachers found her in her robe. It was very uncharacteristic of Marcella to be sick, especially during the holidays. Their first question was, “What about your schedule?” The whole ward knew about it, half of them used her version of it or one similar. She had taught a mini-class on it at July enrichment meeting every other year for the past ten years. She called it “Countdown to a Perfect Christmas”. Marcella explained to the visiting teachers what happened, as best as she understood it herself. They volunteered to do her visiting teaching for her that afternoon. Word of Marcella’s “condition” spread quickly, by evening half the ward knew that Marcella Simmons was sick, with something… Several others were beginning to feel symptoms, too.
The three girls and Jacob were surprised to find their mother in her robe when they got home from school. They were surprised nothing was ready for the “scheduled” Family Home Evening activity of making gingerbread houses. No one said anything about it. Instead, after supper Marcella shared with the family the visiting teaching message on peace and they gathered around the piano to sing carols, even though it wasn’t scheduled until the following week. She’ll snap out of it soon, they all thought.