But I don’t love everything about them.
Looking at them? You bet. Putting them up? Nope.
Think of it this way – if you were to combine impatience with a mile-wide competitive streak, and then add a healthy dose of an unhealthy attentiveness to aesthetic detail, what you’d get is a bomb, primed and ready to explode at any minute. That’s pretty much what we’re dealing with here. I spend most of the year masquerading as a relatively sane, reasonable person only to become completely unhinged at the beginning of each December, all over a few Christmas lights.
This year was no different. I spent parts – large parts – of three days trying to get our lights up and working to no avail. Strands that were working in the house wouldn’t work once they were outside on the bushes. The icicle lights were a mess. My remarkably patient wife spent hours methodically going through each bulb of each strand to make sure they were all in good working order and yet we have no lights on our house.
Look, I tried, ok? Not without lots of shouting and swearing at the lights and then throwing them when they refused to comply with my very clear instructions, but I tried. And just in case you’re wondering, neither of those things helps the process one bit – it just scares the kids and the neighbors.
All this is to say that whether we have lights on our house or not, Christmas happens. Whether I get mad and make a fool of myself for the whole world to see or not, Christmas happens. Whether our house is the most beautifully decorated on the block or not (reference my earlier comment about competitiveness), Christmas happens.
In Matthew 1, an angel comes to Joseph in a dream and tells him that Mary will give birth to a son and that they are to give him the name Jesus because “he will save his people from their sins”.
Christmas happens. More importantly, Christmas happened. It’s the promise of restoration for a broken world. It’s hope for the hopeless. It’s forgiveness for the sinner. And it’s basis for our faith. I’m so thankful for that.
Merry Christmas.
Chris Reid