Some clarification is in order.
Earlier I wrote a great piece about how despite all the bad things happening locally, personally, nationally, and internationally, I was giving myself permission to feel joy. A good sentiment. A really good thought. But I think I completely had this whole joy thing wrong. I made the mistake of thinking joy = happiness. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
I tried. I really did. I tried hard. I wasn't going to let the little things get to me. I was going to be happy. Cheerful, even. Bad things were still happening to people I know, the world didn't disappoint in its ability to produce tragedies, but it wasn't going to get to me. No siree.
But you know what happens when you try to force yourself to feel happy? You feel even worse. I felt a certain pressure. Sad things normally make me feel sad, but suddenly that wasn't OK. Suddenly that was failure, and I was letting people down. And a sense of failure does not make spirits bright. And my kids were totally noticing it. One even commented on my "determination not to be happy". Really didn't make me feel any better.
And little things kept gnawing at my mood. A bad day at work, for example. The feeling that I've been (barely) fending off a sinus infection. One particularly bad night that involved a 6 year old who would not sleep and a Christmas party gone horribly wrong. That was the night I felt the snap. That little flicker of joy? It was gone. Over. Spiritually I cried "uncle". I'd had it. Pardon the expression, but joy be damned. So I updated my status to state that I was giving myself permission to be as grumpy as I wanted to be, causing some concern that I'd crossed over to the Grinch side.
But you know what? That's not really it, either. I'm feeling no animosity towards the holiday. In fact, I'm still eagerly looking forward to be big day, Christmas itself, when the preparations are largely over and the focus is just on being with my own little family and enjoying each others' company. And that moment is going to come, ready or not. And I truly believe that it will be wonderful.
I've come to realize that permission to feel joy does not mean that I don't have permission to feel anything less than wonderful. I just have to feel what I feel... and that's OK. The "real" Christmas story, after all, is hardly a laugh-fest. As people are fond of pointing out, Mary was the original unwed teen-aged mother, which was not exactly cool at the time. Most women I know would probably agree that giving birth outside, among the muck and smells of a stable, would be no picnic. And even after seeing her precious baby, the host of heavenly angels, and the visit from the magi, Mary had a strange foreboding that this story wasn't going to end particularly well. The holy family had to flee the country for their own safety, and there's the whole Slaughter of the Innocents thing. Good times, eh?
Some years Christmas just resonates on a whole different level.
I distinctly remember a Christmas that I think was 2 years ago. I was working at the shelter and worked the day of Christmas Eve. I left at the end of my shift but had some stops to make on my way home. The first was to deliver food, presents and medicine to a young mother whose daughter was sick with a bad cold or some such thing. The apartment complex she lived in would best be described as "sketchy". The sun had gone down but it was a warm night and rather foggy, so all the outside lights bathed everything in a weird, orange glow. As I was leaving her building I heard shouts and what sounded like the makings of a drunken fight a few buildings over. While I was driving to the next home to make another delivery, the Christmas music on the radio was interrupted to bring me an Amber Alert. A child was missing and feared to be in danger. Never had I felt so deeply how very broken our world is. But that night I had the opportunity to sing "Silent Night" by candlelight, and it was beautiful.
My kids just asked me this evening what they could do to make me happy. It's hard to explain, but I just want to tell them to let me be. Not in the sense of leaving me alone, but letting me be who I am feeling how I feel and just going with it. If I can acknowledge sorrow and frustration I can let it go. I can stay open to the possibility of joy knowing that I won't know exactly when and how it will happen, and that it's not for me to manufacture.
One last thought. I follow the "Cracked" page on Facebook and lately they've been hitting it out of the park. I believe that humor is a great vehicle for conveying truth in a way that it can be heard. And they had a great piece about the "real" meaning of Christmas that goes way beyond the biblical story. Once upon a time this was a seriously scary time of year here in the Northern climes. Not just the darkness, but the onset of cold, and if you hadn't adequately planned ahead for things like food or fuel you weren't going to be around to welcome the spring. So the writer pointed out that the great thing about humankind is that we could take this nightmarish scenario and decide to throw a party. We turned our bleakest moment into a time to celebrate love and generosity, and created pretty lights and such for the sole purpose of being pretty. And, you know what? That's a wonderful thing.
Did I say I don't care about Christmas? That's not true. I haven't given in to Grinchitude. I've given in to reality. I'm kind of emotionally exhausted, but I'm willing to go through the preparations because I know it's going to be worth it. Just let me take it at my own pace and don't expect me to necessarily have a smile on my face the whole time.
Feeling better already. Let the holiday begin!
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