I don’t know about you, but sometimes, the Christmas season for me can be kind of, for lack of a better word, sucky.
And not the delightful kind of sucky that Buddy the Elf discovered with the mailroom tubes on his face. Just regular, plain old sucky.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Christmas. It’s just the month before Christmas that’s just sometimes a bit of a hassle. I’m not trying to scrooge it up; sometimes it’s just overwhelming.
First of all, my little suburb is about the worst place to be during shopping season. We have this enormous, throbbing, diseased tumor of stores and strip malls that’s growing on our main highway. Dozens of stores stacked on top of stores, all crammed together in less than a square mile, with about 50,000 people there at any given time. It’s awful.
Not to mention, although I like giving gifts, the task of simply figuring out what to give everyone is a lot of work. I don’t like to give gift cards, because it feels like we’re just trading money. Plus, I know I’ve got four or five unused gift cards sitting around myself.
Between two families, plus friends, my wife and I have a lot of Christmas obligations. Plus, we like to throw a Christmas party. There’s food to make and cards to mail, and gifts to wrap, and trees to kill, and sweaters to wear, and decorations to decorate and eggnog to drink and places to be. It’s a lot of work.
And somewhere in there, I’m supposed to find the time for some solemn reflection on the real meaning of the holiday. Which is nearly impossible. I’m not sure why Jesus picked such a busy holiday to get born on in the first place. Seriously, if Jesus had been born on any other holiday, it would be a lot easier to reflect on his radiant little baby face. Christmas is just a really inopportune time for the Savior of mankind to want some attention.