Why I Hate Christmas

And Other Odd Thoughts

I have random thoughts in my head and felt the need to write them down. At times, lately, I have felt the need to be funny or particularly insightful and then I remember that this blog is first and foremost for me (God willing, I will never be Perez Hilton!) and what do I care what other people think? Yes, I'm back to that. I talked to an old friend today - almost told her about my blog but didn't; I did tell her about my therapist and Lexapro. I could almost hear the censure and the trying to understand someone who makes different choices. I've been thinking about this all afternoon and am again seeking to embrace the, "What do I care what other people think?" adage.

I am struggling with Christmas. Perhaps it's emotions on a level I can't see, but Christmas is really making me cry this year, even if I just think about Santa.

Because this year, Santa is really just Jesus working for the CIA; Santa is not so much a jolly fat man in a red suit but the Spirit of God, the Spirit of Love, in disguise. I've watched my children gleefully shop for loved ones and have loved their increasing discovery of the joy of giving; I have seen their eyes light up in excitement as they imagine how much so-and-so will like their gift. And then I feel that way as I take them to Santa, a kind man who asks about their dreams and wishes, and as I play Santa in my home searching for gifts to delight and enthrall them. Surely Santa brings out the best parts of ourselves.

Mary makes me cry. I think of this poor young woman, chosen by God to be the vessel for His son. I think of the Law of Moses and it's strict rules for chastity and what a blow this must have been to her to be an unwed mother. Pregnancy is hard enough without your community scorning you for it. I imagine her time with Elizabeth was such a gift from God.

I wonder too at what it must have been like for her to carry the Christ-child and to worry and ponder about how she was going to be His mother; to stare at her newborn babe, covered in birthing goo and Heaven's fairy dust and know that this was her Savior and her son. How overwhelming.

Jesus makes me cry. This beautiful, beautiful baby boy (I have a thing for newborns) is only so significant because of His horrible/magnificent end. I cannot think of the babe without thinking of the man on the cross and I cry. It is one thing to look at an infant and see the millions of possibilities and hopes; it is another to see all of these tied up in pain, sorrow and death.

Joseph makes me cry. To be a father and yet not, to be somehow right there and yet always on the outside as just a stand-in, someone to be present where God the Father could not be. And yet, he was tender and kind when he could have been so cruel. I love how giving he was.

Yup, down the line, wise men (bringing money and gifts to a poor family who so needed the help) and shepherds (humble, blue collar men who had testimonies of Jesus, not to mention symbols of Jesus himself - and there we go, right back to the cross), angels (singing praises and rejoicing in this moment, bearing witness of Jesus) and even sheep (me), are all making me cry in the amazing symbolism of Christmas.

So, in an attempt not to think, and to entertain myself while I tackled my mountain of laundry, I watched the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2, which was much better than I thought it would be. (Not that that's saying much; I believe it best to watch any movie with rather low expectations so that I'm always pleasantly surprised).

I watched Tibby, a 20-something year old, help her best friend's mother give birth and I found it odd; I don't know that I would want to have a child, someone a generation younger with no real connection to me, stand at my side for child birth. But my next thought was just how amazing women are and how we are all so connected by these weird experiences that our bodies give us, whether we choose them or not, regardless of age. And how wonderful it is to be part of this club, this group of people called women. There is something timeless about it.

Of course my next thought was, "I miss my mom." I wonder sometimes if the "acid trips" of grief ever stop. I've been doing so well since this summer and now I ache.

My current thought is, "Maybe I'm crying so much because it's late and I just really need to go to bed!

And in a few days, Christmas will be over. My nativities, which I love, will have to go back into their boxes. Life will return to normal without the constant reminders - HEY IT'S CHRISTMAS - around every corner.

And then I just have to get ready for Rob to leave.

Yep.

I'm crying again.

I'm really not looking forward to up to 6 months as a single parent and away from my spouse. We set up Skype but even video calls are not the same thing as a hug and that feeling I get whenever he's in the same room.

And then I have to move and leave the only community my children have ever known.

Yep.

I'm crying again.

I have to meet new teachers and make new friends and find my place in a new ward when I love the one I'm leaving so very, very much. (Although I am looking forward to having my bishop not being a personal friend as well.)

I don't like change; I don't like it all and that seems to be what the last 3 years have been all about.

The only constant may be my crying.

Maybe it is a gift afterall. :)