The Most Wonderful Time? Really?
I love Christmas.
I love lights and decorations and red balls. I love fresh greenery and I love baby Jesus and grown-up Jesus and I love all things Christmas.
And I love singing, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”
But no where in my home will you find those words because what I learned during my time in the fire—my time in the middle of the wilderness—is that this is not, in fact, always, for all people the most wonderful time.
Made all the worse by the idea that it should be wonderful.
The most wonderful.
But what if it’s not? And that’s OK.
What if empty chairs fill empty tables.
What if expectations of Santa’s sleigh bag don’t match expectations of this month’s paycheck.
What if it’s good and hard and festive and hard and merry and, yet.
What if it’s beautiful to celebrate the arrival of a Savior but that it’s not a wonderful time.
For me, it is. Now. Today. But I can remember not so far off and so I pass by these humans. Their eyes sparkly and sad and knowing and longing and I wonder for them—
Is this time wonderful?
Jesus is. But is this time?
Turn on the news.
I quit watching the news in the summer of 2008. Coulter had just been born.
Wait. That was 2005. Jingle Bells! I haven’t watched the news in over ten years.
I’m really OK with that. Coulter gets to watch CNN student news at school and is currently working on bettering his Donald Trump impersonation so we’re good.
What would happen if I did turn it on? Would our President be goading Russia (is that a word? ya know, like what Coulter does to Emma Claire to make her mad?) or tweeting about football players kneeling during the anthem.
I think the bigger issue is not that they stood or kneeled but that our President has time to tweet about it.
Football players. Hello, people. Not. The most wonderful time.
And for the record I stand. And I sing. Loudly. For all the world to hear.
What would happen? If I turned on the news? Would I hear that a journalist I began almost every morning with, for 10 plus years, had dropped his pants for a colleague.
Men. Here’s a word. Gross. Take for just a second that this is not assault (which it is), and just hear this word.
We are not visual. And you are gross.
And I haven’t eaten for a week at the thought of Charlie Rose exposing himself to women expecting to interview with a revered journalist.
Shame on them for expecting that he’d have his pants on.
Not a wonderful time.
And it’s not really Charlie. I’m not currently eating because the singlet I purchased to wear in our super-strong-awesome power-lifting competition came out of the box looking like a singlet for an 18-month old. It might fit Emma Claire.
Apparently it stretches.
Anyway. I don’t watch the news.
And for the record, I’m not really on Facebook anymore. 😉
So I’m decorating with the red balls and fresh greenery and I’m celebrating but something is missing. I wanted a print with a cute little saying. I went to 5 different stores looking. Searching. I even went to the uber-uber-uber Donald Trump lover’s cute little boutique and was willing to give them my money if they only had that missing piece.
I go to my friend and ask her to create what’s missing. “I want it to read, ‘A savior is born.'”
“Ok,” she responds. “Becky wants something that says, ‘A weary world rejoices.'” And I stop in my tracks.
Yes. That’s it.
Becky will not at all be surprised that I’ve copied her. I’m fancy-fancy like that.
For the Love.
A weary world rejoices. Fall on our knees.
In awe and praise.
And know that this is precisely why He came.
So that a weary world might rejoice.
It may not be the most wonderful time of your year. You may not even like red balls or fresh greenery or the movie Elf.
Bless your heart.
But for you, Jesus came. For our weary souls. He came.
Rejoicing is different than being happy.
Rejoicing is soul. Rejoicing is spirit.
Rejoicing says, my heart is weary but I celebrate anyway.
Yes. That’s it. Weary, weary friends. Rejoice. A savior is coming.