The Other Christmas

A few more days until Christmas, and the holiday has already been going strong for several weeks with parties, holiday baking and once-a-year treats on the breakroom table that make it bow in the middle.

My family Christmas will be marked by tamales, toffee and eggnog so thick it could stand without a glass.  Corner Bakery coffeecake; if you haven’t ever had it, just don’t.  And a wicked concoction of chips, caramel and chili powder called “Freakin’ Awesome” which totally is.

That’s one Christmas. It’s characterized by overindulgence and things that (let’s face it) the body doesn’t need and can barely process.  The motto of this Christmas is: “Anything worth doing is worth overdoing.” (credit to Mick Jagger)  The whole idea is to treat ourselves so well that we nearly topple over.

(I understand that people who aren’t foodies do the same thing only with consumer goods, like iPads and X-boxes and other things they bought at Target with a credit card.)

But there’s another Christmas.  It’s austere and simple, lit dimly by firelight, and exquisitely quiet.  It’s a midnight of the senses.  It feels empty and lonely at first, but if I stay there in the quiet, while the noisy Christmas of food and things rushes past me, if I endure the unease of loneliness and emptiness, I begin to notice a tiny newborn hope inside me. 

I’m waiting for something much greater than food or things. 

They seem to be mutually exclusive, the two Christmases.  If I fill myself with the easy things, the things that don’t really satisfy, I will be too sated and distracted to stand watch in the night.  If that’s all Christmas is to me, then I’ll be asleep to the greater things when they come. 

 If I can just brave the emptiness, accepting the fact of my own inability to fill the hole inside me, then I will be standing quietly at midnight, awake to the hope that my yearning is about to be answered.

A joyful silent night to all.