Christmas is absolutely my most favorite time of the year. I love the music, the decorations, the parties, the food, the gifts, the weather…well, at least when the Shreveport weather plays nicely. And this year, except for the lack of snow, the forecast was about as good as it gets around here.
To top off the great weather, all my shopping was done early so I could just coast into Christmas with ease. Not only were all the gifts purchased, but everything was wrapped and under the tree, freeing up time and energy for the more important parts of the holiday—sipping egg nog in front of the fire while listening to Christmas classics.
So, you can imagine my disappointment as I left the doctor’s office with a diagnosis of Influenza B, where the B stands for B.A.D. I was robbed of Christmas 2017 by this nasty bug that has apparently descended upon our city like the plague.
Keeping a safe distance between myself and the kitchen, I briefly instructed my husband and two kids on the preparations to be made for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very long before the bed began to beckon me with an irresistible invitation. I had no way of knowing that once I yielded to the “call of the sleep,” I would become its prisoner for nearly three days.
Oh, I awakened here and there, to pick up bits and pieces of the holiday I was missing. I discovered that my husband can actually cook when absolutely necessary. And my son and daughter can coexist peacefully and even work together, though it rarely happens under normal circumstances. Yes, they managed to get all the dishes prepared following the morning Christmas Eve service they attended without me. The first one I’ve missed in…well…ever.
After attending church and cooking—without me—my family all gathered at my sister’s home for our annual celebration—again, without me. Maybe you can sense the beginnings of my bitterness.
So, Christmas morning came, and I managed to get up and sit in the den long enough to watch my kiddos open their gifts. I was in a bit of a fog, though, and returned to bed as soon as the final gift was exchanged. In a matter of hours, the house was quiet as everyone left for Christmas dinner with the extended family once again. I never really awakened again on Christmas Day. I tossed and turned and coughed and moaned for the remainder of my most favorite holiday of the year. And just like that, Christmas was gone!
I waited and prepared and anticipated and decorated—and I missed it. I awakened on December 26, beginning to feel almost human again, but noticing that sickness was trading places with sadness. My most favorite day gone for another year, and I hadn’t even been there to enjoy it. I wandered into the kitchen to see the “Santa’s Cookies” plate right where I left it, without even a hint of a crumb. Santa ALWAYS has cookies when he visits the Wallace household, but not this year. And the breakfast tradition—cream cheese bites—were missing the cream cheese. Yes, it was all sinking in on me at once, and it was more than I could bear. I MISSED CHRISTMAS!
Well, that’s pretty much the end of my Christmas 2017 story, but I do like my writings to have a lesson, or a moral if you will. So, the good news in all of this: God reminded me that Christmas is not nearly as much about a date as it is about a decision…a decision God made to descend into our world for the purpose of revelation and redemption. Now that’s something worth celebrating EVERY DAY.