Time was, there were two days each year that were always good just
because. The season was great, but nothing bad could penetrate the
inherent goodness, the sheer magic of these two days. It was as if the
days themselves were protected from even the faintest shadow of darkness
or discouragement. And it was all just because.
Just
because it was Christmas Eve, the day was defined by near unbearable
anticipation of what Christmas Day itself would bring. There was that
tangible feeling, the smells and sounds of the day. Christmas Eve . .
. Everything came together on that day to create an atmosphere thick
with excitement. He didn't walk through Christmas Eve, he swam in it.
Christmas Eve . . . it was the exciting day.
It was fun just because it was Christmas Day. This is when it all happened. And it all always
happened. It began by waking early from a sleep that was near
impossible to find in the first place, followed by hurriedly dressing in
the cold room. The little space heater had not yet done its work, but
there was no complaining about the temperature this morning, no hiding
beneath the covers until the room was warm today! Then, the kids waited
for Mama and Daddy to open the hall door which resulted in a stampede
to the living room and a mass dive under the far-reaching branches of
the Christmas Tree.
Time seemed to move slowly amid
the "look what I got"'s, the "How does this work"'s, and the "Daddy, can
you put this together?"'s. After the socks they used for stockings
were emptied to see what all Santa Claus had stuffed in there it was
time to open the presents from each to all. Ribbon, paper, and bows,
flew in all directions! There was no order to the event and it was over
and done well within five minutes.
Next came the
visits. Up the road to visit aunts and uncles and cousins. A little
further up the road to visit the grandparents. It was a grand time . . .
a favorite part of the day. Even outdoors the day had a certain feel
to it. It was the way Christmas "seems". And all just because it was
Christmas. It was only natural that they had to head back down the road
to get home. After all, the same people they had just visited were now
due to visit them! More hugs and jokes and "my, my, look at that"'s.
Lots of laughter. And, just in time, everyone went home because it was a
little past noon and Christmas Dinner had to be served. Then came all
the food and deserts that you eat just because it's Christmas.
After
a "quiet" afternoon playing, a meal of cherished leftovers, and maybe
another family get-together, the day he didn't want to end ended. That
was the fun day, and that's the way it always happened.
Years
passed. Christmas changed. Well, the way he celebrated changed. He
wonders if he should have held tighter to that magic during his teen
years. Maybe that's when he lost it. He always wanted it to be the
same, but, it changed and it never went back. Now, decades later, he
longs for the Christmas he knew as a child. The coming of Christmas
still arouses that child within him. He wants his family to know
Christmas as he knew it. Everything that used to be just because it was
Christmas is no longer just because. It doesn't just happen. He seeks
it, and if he doesn't find it he makes it, he forces it. All because it
should be. It should "just be". And he feels like such a phony.
Christmas,
which once brought such excitement and anticipation just because it was
Christmas, now serves as an annual reminder of just what a failure he
is. Oh, he gets little notices all through the year, but Christmas
really brings it home.
He will readily admit that his failings are largely material. Money is always tight. Always.
But, for a man who wants to do so much and yet can do so little for his
family throughout the year, Christmas, with all of its grace and
goodness, continues to taunt him with his own deficiencies. Every year, he finds himself saying, "Maybe next year".
He embarrasses himself repeating it yet again. It has become a joke.
He laughs when he says it. . . . he hurts when he says it.
He
doesn't really care about getting anything. It's the radiant joy on
the face of the giver that blesses him. To receive from someone who
enjoys giving is a gift in itself. It's not what he receives that
matters nearly so much as how it is given. He is never disappointed in
the gifts he receives. A book, a cd, a dvd, a pair of bedroom shoes
offered with the joy of giving means just as much as a wide screen tv, a
high performance sound system, or a whole new suit of clothes.
He
can't seem to reconcile himself to that on the giving end though. He
has never been able to give "the nicer things in life" to those he
loves. "Maybe next year I can buy the real jewelry", he tells himself. "Maybe next year
I can buy the nice clothes and send my wife out looking like a million
dollars!" When the kids were little, it was the nicer toys, the things
little children really wanted that eluded him. "Maybe next year," he said until enough next years
had passed that they had outgrown toys. Then it became the clothes,
the shoes, the cd players, . . . all the stuff that made for a
teenager's "in" lifestyle. "Maybe next year" until they were grown and gone and it still hasn't changed. Every year . . . every "next year" seemed to stamp "failure" on his passport from one year to the next.
The
thing is, no one else shares his disappointment. It's mostly
internal. He loves them all too much to let the outside know what is
really going on inside. If any of them knew the burden of the load he
carries, the totality of their disappointment would be for him, not in
him. They love him very much. He knows this. And they love how he
"keeps Christmas". Disappointment in himself takes a back seat to the
joy of the season. If he can't give the gifts, he can give the
experience. He can keep Christmas, and they can keep it with him. And
it is in this love, the love they share, that he continues to make the
most of each Christmas that passes. It's how he keeps Christmas.
It's
about the love anyway. The love of God who gave His Son. The love of
the Son who gave Himself. The love that comes with knowing the Son.
Love that wants to give and then give more. Love that doesn't care what
or how much or if it gets. Love that is its own best gift.
It's here that he ultimately finds himself . . . every year. Loving . . . loved. . . . and keeping the Day . . . just
because it's Christmas. Because that's the way it should be, and
that's the way it has always been, and that's the way it is. After all .
. . there's always next year!
the end
Maybe Next Year
by Dennis Manor, 12/91
Christmas time is coming soon.
It's my favorite time of year.
But, there's no joy, no celebration,
no Christmas cheer around here.
Things got hard. And they just get harder.
And there's no end in sight.
There's not much to look forward to
on Christmas Eve tonight.
The little ones are snug in bed.
They'll find it hard to sleep.
While me and Mama on opposite sides
just find it hard to speak.
We're not mad. We're not out of love.
We just don't know what to say.
We never thought we'd be spending
Christmas Eve this way.
But maybe next year things'll be better'
We'll be alright, you'll see.
There'll be places to go,
maybe some snow,
and there'll be presents there under that tree.
Maybe next year I'll be workin'
and we'll be doin' fine.
Then we'll have a real good Christmas time.
Yes, I know, there's so much more to the Day
than toys, and turkey, and gifts.
It's all for the Son of God who was born
to die so that we might live.
But, just like our father who reigns above
a man wants to do for the ones he loves.
So maybe next year things'll be better.
We'll be alright. You'll see.
There'll be places to go, maybe some snow,
and there will be presents there under that tree.
Maybe next year I'll be workin'
and we'll be doin' just fine.
Then we'll have a real good Christmas time.
Then we'll have a real good Christmas time.
So . . . until then
let's have a real good Christmas time.