Home for Christmas

This phrase has taken on a wide range of meanings for me this year. The first Christmas didn't even take place in a home, or an inn--happened in a manger . . . .

For the last decade, "Home for the Holidays" has aired on TV the week leading up to Christmas, and highlights the importance of adoption--giving children a "home" not just for Christmas, but for life. As someone who was adopted as an infant, this type of program hits pretty close to home.

Last Friday night, my friend Chris invited me to join him at a homeless shelter in Redlands. For three hours I basically helped set up cots, pass out blankets and fellowshiped with about 15 people who had become pretty down on their luck. For that night, at least, what used to be a Smart and Final warehouse was their "home".

A few nights before Christmas, I was driving around town listening to KSGN, and a Steven Curtis Chapman song came on I had never heard before--"Home for Christmas". It started out pretty sappily (is that a word?!?)--typical "feel good" Christmas tune. But the second verse had a twist--it was about an elderly person in the hospital who was seeking to be "home" for Christmas--home with Jesus--in heaven. Wow. That stopped me in my tracks. This year, I literally spent Christmas Day in the hospital with my 87-year-old father. One day we, as believers, will all be "HOME" for Christmas--forever.

Christmas

December brings so many decisions, as far as how to celebrate Christmas. Some people probably have traditions that span generations and never change them--why would they?



I remember shortly after becoming a Christian in college, it really upset me that once Christmas was over, we would sort of "pack it up" and put everything back in the garage. "Why, I wondered, should we keep this going only one month out of the year? Isn't Christ's birth worth celebrating year-round?" So, what I did was, I kept the little plastic green tree I had had since I was a little boy with its mini-lights up and running until April. It was the year after I graduated from U of R, and I was living in my first apartment on La Paloma in Redlands. People thought it a bit strange when they would come over, but I didn't much care. Of course, after awhile, I caved in and, well, put it in the garage.



As the years go by, different decisions: in my office at school, what decorations would be appropriate (or inappropriate)? Should I purchase gifts in stores or on-line? Which is more impersonal, a gift card or a gift basket? Colored lights or white lights? Send snail mail cards, online cards or no cards? Should I host a Christmas party, or just continue to mooch off of other people's parties? This time of the year can get so weird so fast. We spend so much time with the "peripheral" trappings of the season, go into debt, get all stressed out and by the time it's over, can't WAIT to "pack it up" and shove it back into the garage. So what's the answer? What I pray for is balance. Of course, easier "prayed for" than done.



Christmas can also be an emotional time for many people. Perhaps it's the first year the kids are off to college, and won't be around for the holidays; perhaps someone is newly divorced,
and isn't sure how that's supposed to work; perhaps someone has recently lost a loved one, creating a "cloud" over Christmas (much like I've experienced since losing my Mom).

In the end, I believe Christmas is an extension of Thanksgiving. Even though the decorations might be in the garage most of the year, in my heart, I need to be forever mindful of how thankful I am not only for Christ and His coming, but also for the blessings He continues to shower upon me--my family, my friends, my church, my health--even my job (a "mixed blessing", as of late). Perhaps it is possible, after all, to celebrate the "spirit" of Christmas year round . . . .

This is weird

Go figure. I have a blog. This REALLY feels weird. Cyberspace is so infinitely beyond my comprehension. Sort of like after the stars end, what's after that???

I mean, who owns the internet? Where is Internet Headquarters? Does it have a street address?

I figured I've been responding to a couple other blogs--might as well start my own.
Is this really free? I'm thinking, "Ok, I'll get some bill in the mail for some ridiculous amount for starting this blog".

Here's a question--speaking of mail, how long will it take for the postal service to go bankrupt? Talk about losing market share--how can they compete with email? Will first class stamps go the way of gas prices? Pretty soon it'll take a buck to mail a letter. Nuts.

Ok, so now you know why my blog is called "thisandthat". I am all OVER the place.

I'd post some pictures, but the digital camera I bought a year ago is still in its box. I have this fear of new gadgets--I couldn't even get my shuffle IPOD to work . . .I returned it for a refund. How lame is that?

So Thanksgiving is over and here comes Christmas. I saw this editorial cartoon in the LA Times the morning of Black Friday. It was all about getting people to boycott the whole consumerism aspect of Christmas. Made me think. Like, really, what are we doing? Let's go deeper into debt and buy stuff for family and friends who probably either a) don't need it or b) won't use it. Don't get me wrong--I love the food, the music, the lights, etc., etc.--it's just this mostly mindless exchange of goods with people who really don't need stuff. Like my Dad. He has everything he could ever want, but, you know, there is this obligation to come up with something--because it's Christmas. Here's a thought--spread gift giving over the course of an entire year. Like, do little things for people here and there, unannounced, just because. Just a thought . . . I used to think it was sort of cheesy when I'd get a card from someone that said, "I just donated to the Wildlife Conservancy Fund in your name. Merry Christmas". Almost like they were cheating. But that type of thing is starting to make a whole lot more sense to me right now. Pick a charity and go into debt that way, you know? Anyway, maybe one year I'll join that little bandwagon, and all my friends can think I've joined the cheesy cheaters . . . .