“Where are you spending Christmas this year?” I asked a widowed friend. Since her husband died, she has lavished attention on her children and expanding circle of grandchildren. She’s the poster child for involved grandparenting. Adored. Available. Undemanding. And tired.
A far-away look came into her eyes. “Somewhere warm. The ticket’s booked.”
“With the family?” I pictured her entire brood hauling suitcases and knapsacks filled with swimsuits and flip flops and sunscreen into the airport.
A (slightly guilty) look of mischief overtook the dreamy one. “Nope. This year I’m escaping.”
My friend is a gift all who know her. Her family will miss her loving presence, but I know she’ll find another way to remind them how special they are to her.
A voluntary escape is one way to avoid the crazy that too easily sucks one in during the Yuletide season – the frantic schedule of events and expectations and shopping and baking and entertaining that Christmas has become. The true Treasure of Christmas is all too easily buried under the traditions of Christmas.
Perhaps my lovely friend isn’t so much escaping something as running to something. A quieter celebration, in which, shed of family’s expectations, she’ll have time and space to breathe. To connect with friends, but also with her faith and our Saviour in a new way. To view Christmas through another lens. I pray so, and I can’t wait to hear her post-Christmas report.
The Preacher and I escaped the crazy one year, too. Not because we wanted to, but because a West Nile carrying mosquito had passed on the virus that paralyzed his body and brain, and landed him in care for many months.
Though excruciatingly painful for each of us in our own ways, those months brought treasure. We rediscovered each other. We re-connected with God. And we remembered that above all, Christmas, the celebration of the birth of Jesus, is the Divine reminder that God is with us, no matter our circumstances.
Neither one of us will ever forget our Christmas at the rehab centre. There among the similarly afflicted, people struggling to recover what they’d lost to various pirates of life, we experienced genuine joy. Jesus seemed to walk among us, comforting, encouraging, bringing hope and peace. We sensed God’s presence as never before, freeing our spirits from the darkness of fear and worry and physical limitations in inexplicable ways.
Our celebrations have never been the same. We choose our portion of crazy carefully. We’ve become more intentional about our giving. I drink eggnog without rum. We celebrate the Light of the World, came to save us. We love on people, but make more space for reflection.
Regardless of your Christmas plans, I pray you, too, space to reflect. An escape from crazy. Most of all, that you’ll make room for the Saviour who came to bring light into your darkness, peace to replace your strife, freedom from the sins that bind you, joy to the world, and hope for all your tomorrows.
