The Christmas trees are coming down in our house, ornaments wrapped and sorted and put away in storage for the next 330 days or so. There will be a space left in the Family Room where our family tree is yearly raised (with salt dough ornaments we made as kids, and sentimental markers - yearly ornaments that mark the year's most significant events, gifts from friends and patients, colleagues and teachers and students; from children we babysat and real-estate agents who were like family; - collected over the many years). There will be two stories of echoing space in the living room where the beautiful tree - my dad's masterpiece trimmed with angels and ribbons and glass ornaments and light (and the angel topper who moves and reminds us all of one of Mom's best friends who is no longer with us on this earth) gets place of honor for a month every year.
Twice today I heard expressed a sadness or loss about taking down the Christmas trees and decorations and it struck me as peculiar only because it has never felt like that to me before. I can see, though, as I start to consider it from another's perspective, why it would feel empty or sad. We take the glitter out and replace it with what will be mundane for the next 10 or 11 months. We take down the glowing reminder of fireplace feasts and stockings hung and the look of delight upon opening that gift...the day when it is excusable to lounge around in jammies eating mom's cherry coffeecake and thinking about abundance. Yes, this is like loss...Except that our lives are really lived out in the day-to-day, punctuated if we have the means, by holidays and large feasts and celebrations. But there is glitter - shimmering hope and rays of light - in the day-to-day. The God-with-us Immanuel celebrations must continue throughout the year (even in small ways) so that our hearts can be even more full of the knowledge of the goodness and glory of God today and when Christmas next comes around.
I wonder if that feeling of taking the tree down that I have heard from people this year is what the Disciples felt like after the crucifixion and before Jesus showed himself resurrected. I wonder if they felt a let down, an emptiness, a what-do-we-do-now kind of thing. Where did you go, Savior? I wonder about that time between the resurrection and the pouring out of His spirit, how they felt, what they were thinking... Oh we wait, LORD. How we wait for you. And how amazing it would have been to be amongst the believers at first Pentecost.
Next Christmas season, I want to celebrate Advent - the expectant waiting. Of course, there is something delightful about opening up a window or door on an Advent calendar every day for a few weeks and finding the surprise inside. I mean, how swell it was as a child to get a piece of chocolate, or a toy, or a sticker at every evening's unveiling. And how meaningful to light another candle each week to mark the days and weeks until Christmas Day. But this is not why I want to observe this period of hopeful day-marking. I want to do this because I want -- rather, I need -- to long for God-with-Us the way I have longed for others and other things during this season - during this time of my life. (Hebrews 13:5,6)
May the space where your Christmas tree stood, where the blanket-warmth scent of cinnamon and vanilla and ginger and all things Christmas lingered, now be filled daily with a knowledge of your need for Him, your longing for Him, the space you will make for Him this year and His very Immanuel presence in You.
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