It’s Coming!

Last updated on: November 6, 2014 at 7:31 am by Anne Kennedy

It’s Coming! 2014-11-06T07:31:40-04:00 Anne Kennedy

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I know the whole world is going to hate me for this, but I thought I'd bring up the dreaded horrific, never to be mentioned this early. subject of Christmas.

“Why are you bringing it up?” You might justifiably ask through powerful clenched teeth. “What are you, skipping over Thanksgiving like the pagans and running straight to the goodies?”

Well, no, not skipping thanksgiving, not succumbing to worldly insanity at all, I assure you, really, totally, Stop Questioning Me! Just looking thoughtfully at the Calender, of a quiet afternoon, and numbering the days, as the Lord has admonished, that I may gain a heart of wisdom, and discovering that, did you know, the first Sunday of Advent is the last Sunday of November. And we're already in November, fully and completely, like heading into the second week. Which means there's no way out. There's no possibility of turning around and trying to back quietly away from the whole big mess. It has to be faced. And, really, perhaps not for you, but for me, it has to be faced now.

For one big important reason, there's the Christmas pageant. My children have been jostling and agitating and fussing about the pageant already for months. I am frequently walking in on them all arguing and shouting about what they're going to be, and who else is going to be there and what they might be also. They were doing this already in June, which does nothing whatsoever to calm or steady my nerves. Then, to further intensify matters, other children from church have been sidling up, all sneeky like, to inquire about the possibilities. It's going to be a delicately negotiated dance between the hopes and dreams of many little girls, added to the muscling and cajoling of any little boy to be Joseph.

So there's the pageant. But there's also advent music. And there's St. Nicholas, both at home and at church. Gosh, what on earth shall I do for St. Nicholas at home? I like to have some kind of idea this far into the year, and I have none. I've already done pocket knives, and mugs, and beautiful old books, and Russian nesting dolls (though not for the boys) and fancy tea spoons (though not for the boys) and tiny stuffed animals. What Shall I Do???? In my mind I'm running around in a panicked circle screaming and crying. And that goes for presents for other people too. Not big fancy presents, but the kind of little tokens of love and affection that are so nice to give out. I've already done infused oil, twice, and chocolate loaves. What Shall I Do??? Whatever it is, it always takes time and consideration.

Part of my personal mission to throw away everything that we own that I can pry out of children's anxious little hands (why does Baby Elspeth have fifteen tiny little dolls that she never ever plays with?) is to make room and have clear blank surfaces so that I can think more clearly. All the clutter is making my mind swirl in a panic of anxious thoughts, dreading the inevitable painting of bird houses, or crafting of clay figures, or slewing of beads everywhere as children start getting creative and fanciful. Elphine, I know, will scatter needles and pins and felt everywhere so that for weeks we will be injuring ourselves on sharp tiny instruments of death and screaming at her.

And all the time I will be reading blogs of women whose lives are gorgeous and ordered and who are probably posting little daily devotions of love for Jesus, or beautiful reflections of Mary and how totally lovely the incarnation is. Heck, I might post some myself. But mine will all be a farce, a hypocritical attempt to make you think that I'm having a beautifully meaningful time, that I get the reason, wink wink, for the season, cough sputter. Forgive me in advance. Don't call me out in my lie. Just say nice things like, “it's so great that you put up a tree this year,” and “wow, all those children's shoes lined up are so cute.” Pretend with me that I'm a centered unruffled person who has rightly ordered priorities and whose love of Jesus is reflected, somewhere, in the screaming panic.

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