Christmas is a Whisper

A whirlwind.

That is Christmas.

Turmoil, demands, expectations, and anxiety swirl internally while I rush to and fro, trying to accomplish in very little time what is deemed necessary for a successful holiday.

Tree up. Decorate the boughs, lights first. No, not like that, spread the ornaments around. Mix up the colors. Attempt to show helping hands how to do it right, but everyone is apparently colorblind. Whatever. Determine to fix it later. Where did that blasted star get stored? Check inside ten different boxes and then settle on an angel topper.

"But, Mom, we used the angel last year and the year before that!"

"Ugh, just deal with it."

Online shopping―because it's easier, right? Have gifts shipped to the front door and avoid the crowds. Why is the cursed internet so slow? Out of stock―ugh. Only the sizes I don't need, of course. Click, click, click―tick tock, tick tock. Oh, oh, wait a minute... great prices here! Yes, my shopping cart is full at last! Check out with VISA; charge it and worry about the bill later.

"What the criminy? HOW MUCH IS SHIPPING?!!!"

Search the internet for a free shipping code. Find none. Try twenty discount codes―all denied. First-time-shopper code―invalid. Invalid? Really? Did our house elf shop at this site when I wasn't looking? Feel a serious headache coming on. So much time wasted surfing the net, inserting useless codes. Fine; just forget it. Empty out half the shopping cart and swallow the exorbitant shipping rates. Determine to finish the Christmas shopping downtown―later.

 

Do not forget the holiday baking! Sugar cookies, gingerbread, chocolate chip... you want brownies and fudge? Gain 10 pounds just mixing the dough. Bake, clean, bake, clean, bake, clean, clean, clean... I'll clean up the rest later.

Make up plates to deliver to friends. Run from one side of town to the other.

"Merry Christmas! No, sorry, no time to sit and talk. More deliveries to make."

Go, go, go. Nearly done!

"Hey, Mom, what about so-and-so? We didn't give them any cookies."

Dang it, forgot about so-and-so. Hurry home. Find a paper plate. Extra cookies, but no red candy kisses. So what, good enough. Head across town... deliver... finally done!

 

Exhausted. Whirlwind intensifies. Still have shopping to finish―later.

 

Just smile one time for this photo. Please? Yes, you have to wear the Santa hat. For the Christmas card. Because, dear.

Because.

Because.

Just because.

Because I said so, alright! Now smile! Grrrrr.

Good enough―not really; kids look like angry little elves. Patience has left the building (mine and theirs.)

 

Sign a hundred Christmas cards.

Lick a hundred stamps.

Hand cramps. Tongue numb.

Christmas shopping to finish―later.

 

"Mom, you didn't put up any mistletoe."

"I know."

"Mom, you didn't get out the Countdown-to-Christmas chart."

"I know."

"Mom, you haven't watched Scrooge with me yet."

"I know."

"Mom, you didn't make my hot chocolate yet."

"I know."

"Mom, how many days until Santa comes?"

"I don't know."

"Mom, I have a Christmas Concert tomorrow at school."

"Eeek! What? I forgot about that."

"Yeah, Mom, I have one too for band next week."

"Uh, forgot about that too."

"Yeah, Mom, and we have to sell Christmas trees to go to camp."

"You have to sell what?"

"Mom, I have to bring brownies to school tomorrow for a party."

"Mom, I wanted to make that Christmas wreath, remember?"

"Uh, right."

"Mom, I have to go caroling with our group tonight."

"Mom, did you find that Countdown-to-Christmas yet?"

"The company Christmas party is next Friday; don't forget."

 

Whirlwind escalates. And I still have to finish the Christmas shopping―later.

 

Time stretches thinner to allow for attending Christmas concerts and parties and tree sales and to finally dig through storage boxes for that begged-after, must-have, young-lives-will-be-ruined-otherwise Countdown-to-Christmas chart. "Thanks, Mom!"

 

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock...

"Twelve days to Christmas, Mom!"

"Seven days to Christmas, Mom!"

"Five days to Christmas, Mom!"

 

The whirlwind picks up internally; anxiety levels spike. I seriously need to finish my shopping!

Make a list and run to the store between work and piling events.

"WHY ARE THE LINES SO *%#@$*•ING LONG?!"

 

Hide in a room to wrap gifts.

Wrapping, wrapping, wrapping―"Mom, where are you?"

Ignore the question; hope it goes away; wrapping, wrapping, wrapping―"Mo~o~om, where are you?" Sigh and answer. "I'm in my room. I'm busy."

Young mouths press up to the door―"Mom, we need... Mom, we want..."

Ignore their demands to wrap a little more, a little faster. "Mom, can we come in?"

Doorknob twists and jiggles. Throw blanket over exposed gifts. "No, no, no! Stay out!"

Return to wrapping―frantically. Whining now begins, traveling through the locked door. "Mo~o~om, we're starving."

Might as well give up. This means wrapping all night on Christmas Eve, but who needs sleep?

 

"Two days to Christmas, Mom!"

Grumble under my breath. No time, no fun.

The whirlwind inside feels awful.

 

Dinner over. Dishes done. Everyone in bed. Lights out. So much left to do but too exhausted. Still have last-minute items to shop for―later.

 

I plop down on the sofa in the dark, but it is not entirely dark. Christmas lights on the tree blink soundlessly, on and off and on again in repeated patterns. It is beautiful. I stare at the light show, mesmerized.

The silence is astounding. Therapeutic even. Internally, the whirlwind eases by degrees, melting like magic. My breathing slows as colors dance on needled tree branches, consoling me. Sinking into the sofa, I wonder at this strange feeling of calmness that invades my being, seeping in from the top of my head to travel in warm tingles throughout my body. It makes me smile.

How sweet the silence that needs no straining ear. How perfect it is, like a whisper that only my soul can hear―"It's alright. It's alright." This gentleness settles into my heart, and I wish for it to remain. This is what has been missing. Too caught up in the whirlwind that society declares Christmas to be, my racing thoughts have drowned out the still, small voice that now brings genuine comfort to my soul. The Christmas spirit does not rush. It does not shout. It does not expect or demand or constrain.

I joy in this rare moment of stillness. My soul hears and believes.

A whisper.

That is Christmas.

"Christmas is a whisper of peace and a sigh of hope on the lips of love."  ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Being Mrs. Santa Claus

It’s nearly Christmas.

A mid all the festive and traditional runaround, we generally perform a few extra acts of goodwill during this giving season.  So, upon a request this year, my husband and I agreed to dress up and play Santa and Mrs. Claus at a craft bazaar held inside a small-town elementary school.  Children lined up to sit on jolly, old Santa's lap and receive peppermint candy canes from his sweet and cheerful wife, Mrs. Claus.  Our teamwork made a bunch of kids happy—twinkling, eager eyes and grinning lips reciting long lists of what-I-want-for-Christmas.  We also made a few wary children cry at their parents' insistence they sit on the old, bearded man's lap for as long as it took to snap a few keepsake pictures.

O verall, it was a merry day.  But it was more than that; it was an eye-opening marvel.

I  began noticing something fascinating the moment we walked out our front door all dressed up in red-and-white Claus disguises.  Observers who looked our direction beamed cheerfully, pointing us out to others in their company.  Nudging my husband, (who had also become aware of the fact that his presence was excitedly noted by kids in the car ahead of us) we waved at the smiling onlookers.  They returned eager waves.  It was an interesting drive along the freeway noting brightened expressions on those who glanced our way, traveling the same road.  And by the time we arrived at the little elementary school, a distance from our own hometown, I understood that great expectations rest on the shoulders of those who dare garb themselves in the famous 'Claus' uniform.

A s  Santa and I walked up the sidewalk to the front doors of the school, we were taken in by a sea of eyes.   It was an illuminating and surreal experience.  People smiled.  People waved.  People offered cordial greetings.  The unanimous assumption was that we were a happy, kind, generous couple with warm hugs to offer and open ears available to hear every last youthful want and wish.  And as we went about our business—visiting with strangers, holding their children, giving them sweet hope and happy hearts and candy canes—it occurred to me I'd never in my lifetime been approached by such an abundance of friendly smiles.  It felt wonderful!  So I had to ask myself, why this collective thrill at Santa's presence?  

E asy enough to answer... because people know that Santa cares.  They expect a jolly character, open arms, and a warm lap.  They trust that this white-bearded man dressed all in red will be attentive to their wants, patient with their reservations, kind in his words and gestures, and generous with his gifts.  A short visit with him grants acceptance and love and affirmation to all.  A moment in his presence lets them know they are indeed precious individuals worthy of his time.  What an honorable thing to assume the role of Santa Claus!  What a treat to have Santa's fixed attention!

U nderstanding of these facts came to me bit by bit throughout the afternoon as I did my very best to perform as people expected.  My time as Mrs. Claus passed delightfully.  My thoughts, however, continued to mull over the event even days later until I finally understood why this experience had affected me so intensely.

T  he truth—I want people to look at me the way they looked at Mrs. Santa Claus.  Is that silly?  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  All I know is this: when I walk into a room full of individuals who know me presently, the response isn't nearly as delighted and good-spirited as what I experienced from those faces turned on Mrs. Claus.  Not that I don't receive smiles or kind words, but the reception is mild compared to the joyful acceptance of those who greeted Mr. & Mrs. Claus.

I  t seems I have my work cut out for me.  For it is one thing to care about people; I do care.  It's an entirely different story to have people know you care and respond to that surety.  And that is where the Claus's have taught me a valuable lesson.  And so this Christmas season I will turn over a new leaf and do more than simply feel for others.  Then perhaps, eventually, people will see in me the heart of dear Mrs. Santa Clause and naturally brighten up in my presence.

"Act like you care. Pray like you care. Speak, smile, reach out, and live like you care. The point is to make sure those in your life know beyond doubt that you do care." 

~ Richelle E. Goodrich