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“It never was about these things”
pamela spurling

 

 

        When I was a little girl, we spent Christmas (my mother, my brother and me) with my grandmother and I remember waking up on Christmas morning, and looking through the key-hole of the door to the living room of my grandmother’s cottage house---all I could see was a lighted Christmas tree with some presents underneath.


         We moved on Christmas---and when we got to the house that would be our home, the only thing we saw was a lighted Christmas tree in the window of that empty house.  I don’t know what my mother must’ve thought, but to me it was the most wonderful sight.  I didn’t know Jesus then and so Christmas was just a time of hoping Santa Claus would come.  We didn’t have a lot of family, so it really wasn’t a time of seeing all kinds of relatives or performing in Christmas pageants.  

Later, after my husband and I were married, I’d taken Daniel and Michael  with me to visit  my mother in California---and when we flew back home on Christmas Eve, my husband met us at the airport and as we drove back home and into the driveway of our old farm house, there in the window was a lighted Christmas tree!

 

        Early on and through the years, Christmases were often difficult---not like how the pictures in the ads seem to portray Christmas!  Often just getting a Christmas tree was a sacrifice. From my earliest memories, the Christmas tree had become this focal point---this marker of success or failure---happiness or tears.   At Christmastime through the years, I would often sit in our quiet living room holding a baby, late at night, the only light in the room was the glow from candles and the lights on the Christmas tree. A baby I used to hold at Christmastime now holds babies of his own and babies who learned to walk at Christmastime now walk and run so fast and I don’t rock them to sleep anymore.

 

Though looking forward to Christmas---I was often sad and would face the day with dread.  I always hoped it would be this spectacular event, with fabulous, cleverly wrapped presents, and with treats and unique cookies for everyone. Though there’ve always been presents and we’ve always baked nice things to eat, it never was quite all I’d hoped it would be.  Over the years there have been so many plays and costumes and performances to preoccupy my thoughts, but each year, before I knew it: Christmas would be past.

 

I’d never have things done in time and so I’d have to rush, staying up late to bake and sew, making mistakes and feeling alone.  I often felt disappointed that I couldn’t just get it all right---often feeling so empty in crowds,  hurrying to buy the gifts and knowing that I couldn’t afford them, trying to decide between food and baking supplies or purchasing simple gifts---rarely completing the long list of things to do and always regretting my annual lack of planning and foresight. 

 

Each year I’d look back on Christmas day and realize that I’d missed it.  Another Christmas was over---and because I was so concerned about what it was supposed to be and to making it feel right for everyone, I would completely miss living out the message and blessing that God had given.  I knew Him!  I knew Him but I didn’t know He was enough at “Christmas” and I didn’t know He was all I needed at “Christmas.”

 

And then ------- the LORD in His mercy brought a change in my life and in my heart and Christmas has never been the same again.     

 

The clichés of Christmas, in time, became trite to me (Jesus is the reason for the season or Merry Christmas) because they detract from the Truth.  No longer could the birth and life of my LORD and Saviour be trivialized by tinsel on trees and reindeer or ribbon and wrappings or by all I hoped we could buy or give---God became flesh and dwelt among us, that we might have life---that we might be freed from the penalty of sin and death.

 

The change that came about---and the change that’s still unfolding---the change started with the birth of a baby---a gift the LORD brought our family.

 

Though filled with joy in my heart I never thought the baby I was carrying would actually be born on that day---many months I waited for the 25th of December---the day set aside to celebrate the birth of Christ---also the due date given my baby…  and then I was awakened with the reality that that day had come!   Very early in the morning I sat wondering what Mary must’ve felt as she laboured in preparation of the birth of the LORD Jesus. 

 

In the evening of that same day as I held my newborn baby, I knew I was at a turning point and I wondered again how she felt the in evening of the day of the birth of Jesus.

 

I was filled with awe at the mercy of the LORD in the gift of our baby on Christmas Day.  

From that day, I knew it could never again be about trees and ornaments, decked halls or sleigh bells ringing---no---it could *never be* about these things again because it *never was* about these things…

 

It could never again be about a Christmas tree and whatever symbolic attachment it’s been given.  It never was about a Christmas tree laden with lights and gifts…

 

It was about a baby, a baby born in a stable and lain in a manger---the light of the world---the key to heaven. Ours is to pass that key along! It’s ours to share and celebrate: the real gift.  No, it’s never been about making lists and checking them twice, it’s not about whose been naughty or nice---for while we were yet sinners, [Christ was born] Christ died for us.  All were naughty---none were nice, for all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.

 

The birth of Jesus was turning point---Christ came to a world bound by sin and sorrow separated from God to be that key unlocking the darkness and oppression.

 

On that day, long ago in Bethlehem, the world was given a gift… It was in the form of a baby, a baby whose birth was foretold by prophets and announced by angels----after the birth of Jesus, the world was never---could never be---the same again.

 

And for me, Christmas could never be the same again.

 

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Many blessings on you and your home, pamela spurling

 

TheWelcomeHome – ©2003
 

 

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