The Denouement
It’s all put away.
The tree, the lights, the wreath from the door, the wrapping paper, the boxes, my favourite red antique tin candle holder. The cranberry garlands, the tacky wooden Santa that historically never leaves the Christmas Rubbermaid, this year dug out by an exuberant 2 year old drawn to his rosy cheeks...it’s all boxed up neatly and once again tucked away safely under the stairs.
My daughter cried as her dad stripped the tree of its branches and drug it out the front door, leaving a trail of pine needles in his wake that I will battle well into March. We attempted to pacify her with the assurance that Christmas will indeed come again next year. That there will be more festive trees in her future...but for now, Christmas is over.
I actually felt a little bit sad myself. Partly because deep down I would argue that the twenty seventh of December is far too early to cease the yuletide festivities (unavoidable this year due to a family trip out of town), but also because I am loath to see the end of this Christmas season. One made more special by children getting older and yet young enough to truly appreciate the awe and wonder surrounding the event: the wide eyes at the display of lights, the shrieks of joy in the midst of opening gifts and most of all...the hushed reverence of my daughter during moments of the Christmas Eve service, her spontaneous outbreaks of “Happy Birthday Dear Jesus,” and her serious determination while blowing out the candle on His “birthday cinnamon bun” on Christmas morn.
We watched silently as her daddy unloaded the tree off the back of the truck into the Christmas Tree recycling bin, a part of me overcome with guilt that this little (or not so little - as the case may be) tree gave its life for our Christmas pleasure. Then I heard her assured voice from the back seat, “Jesus’ birthday again. Next year.”
Christmas is packed away. But, as I was reminded this morning in church, that doesn’t mean the baby Jesus himself should also be boxed up...only to re-emerge next December. I told my little girl that yes, Jesus will have another birthday again next year, but the meaning of Christmas is something we can celebrate any time of year. So on the cusp of 2009, I find myself resolving to keep Christmas alive in this home all year long...not just for the sake of a 2 year old, but for all of us.
The truth of it is...I didn't pack it all away. I just couldn't stand the look on her face. So, I left out one (not so) minor detail. The wooden star that sat atop our tree for the past month. I placed it on the mantle as a reminder that Christmas is never truly over. In fact, it's only just beginning. We will ponder that star for the next few months...until Easter is upon us and we finally realize the true meaning of Christmas.
The tree, the lights, the wreath from the door, the wrapping paper, the boxes, my favourite red antique tin candle holder. The cranberry garlands, the tacky wooden Santa that historically never leaves the Christmas Rubbermaid, this year dug out by an exuberant 2 year old drawn to his rosy cheeks...it’s all boxed up neatly and once again tucked away safely under the stairs.
My daughter cried as her dad stripped the tree of its branches and drug it out the front door, leaving a trail of pine needles in his wake that I will battle well into March. We attempted to pacify her with the assurance that Christmas will indeed come again next year. That there will be more festive trees in her future...but for now, Christmas is over.
I actually felt a little bit sad myself. Partly because deep down I would argue that the twenty seventh of December is far too early to cease the yuletide festivities (unavoidable this year due to a family trip out of town), but also because I am loath to see the end of this Christmas season. One made more special by children getting older and yet young enough to truly appreciate the awe and wonder surrounding the event: the wide eyes at the display of lights, the shrieks of joy in the midst of opening gifts and most of all...the hushed reverence of my daughter during moments of the Christmas Eve service, her spontaneous outbreaks of “Happy Birthday Dear Jesus,” and her serious determination while blowing out the candle on His “birthday cinnamon bun” on Christmas morn.
We watched silently as her daddy unloaded the tree off the back of the truck into the Christmas Tree recycling bin, a part of me overcome with guilt that this little (or not so little - as the case may be) tree gave its life for our Christmas pleasure. Then I heard her assured voice from the back seat, “Jesus’ birthday again. Next year.”
Christmas is packed away. But, as I was reminded this morning in church, that doesn’t mean the baby Jesus himself should also be boxed up...only to re-emerge next December. I told my little girl that yes, Jesus will have another birthday again next year, but the meaning of Christmas is something we can celebrate any time of year. So on the cusp of 2009, I find myself resolving to keep Christmas alive in this home all year long...not just for the sake of a 2 year old, but for all of us.
The truth of it is...I didn't pack it all away. I just couldn't stand the look on her face. So, I left out one (not so) minor detail. The wooden star that sat atop our tree for the past month. I placed it on the mantle as a reminder that Christmas is never truly over. In fact, it's only just beginning. We will ponder that star for the next few months...until Easter is upon us and we finally realize the true meaning of Christmas.
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See you tomorrow!