Guess what? Christmas is not actually about you.
I was asked on a radio interview what my favorite Christmas memory is from my childhood. I told the hosts about spending every Christmas Eve with my maternal grandparents, either at our home or theirs. We always used my grandma’s mother’s handmade holiday tablecloth for our big meal.
But I left out my all-time favorite Christmas Eve memory–a comical arrival at my grandparents’ house, when I was in college.
Looks like a whorehouse!
As we pulled up to the curb, I noticed that the neighbor across the street had beautifully decorated every window of her white, two-story home with a wreath and candles. I commented favorably on the display to my grandmother, upon stepping out of the car. Never one to hold back her thoughts, she responded, and I quote: “Looks like a whorehouse!”
After I got past the initial shock, I laughed about this interaction for days. Heck, I’m still laughing about it as I write this, more than a decade later.
Today, said neighbor has passed away and that house has since been remodeled and repainted gray, my grandfather has passed away, and my grandma is now living with vascular dementia in an assisted living facility down the road from my house.
(Not sure if she’s spotted any whorehouses yet this holiday season. I’ll keep you posted.)
The funny thing is, as a kid, I was certain that no one loved Christmas more than my grandma. While driving around looking at lights on Christmas Eve, no one was more impatient to get back home and open presents than her. (We’re weird, or just German, maybe, and open non-Santa presents on Christmas Eve.)
But once my mom, her only child, began showing signs of early onset Alzheimer’s disease, her perspective on the holidays changed dramatically. And if Grandma ain’t happy, then, naturally, no one around her is allowed to be happy either.
My husband told me the other day that he thought my grandmother had always hated Christmas, because she’s been negative about the holidays as long as he has known her. Nope, I assured him, it’s grief. This year, I keep having to remind myself that Christmas is not about my grandmother, or me, or even my children.
Spoiler alert, Christmas is not actually about you.
It’s not about your beautifully decorated house and your perfectly baked cookies, or lack thereof, or what you are hoping to get in your stocking or under the tree. It’s not about hiding an elf or finally balancing your kids’ needs with their wants without overspending this year. And it’s certainly not about keeping everyone happy.
Christmas is solely about him.
Let us never forget that Christmas is solely about him. “God with us.” Emmanuel. It’s not our celebration, it’s his, yet we are the ones who ultimately receive the gift of his eternal love.
He makes a way in the darkness, whether my grandma thinks it looks like a whorehouse or not. Our circumstances and opinions and perspectives may change from year to year, but he never does.
In fact, Christ sees and hears our grief and trauma and pain and difficult family situations each and every year. He feels our constant doubt and rejection of his infinite love, and still, he offers us hope.
Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” (John 8:12 ESV)
