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