Lights of The Season
Preparing for Christmas is always a struggle for me.
I’m racing against the weather to finish jobs that I hoped would be done by September.
Radio commercials batter me with false cheer while attempting to sneak into my wallet.
Once in a while, I find an inspired gift for someone I love, but question whether it is enough.
I know I am more fortunate than so many others and wonder how I can help them while still finishing those September jobs.
I want my kids to feel the kindness and power and goodness of something larger than humanity, even as I strain to find those feelings.
Some people find the Christmas spirit by singing Christmas carols.
Others find it in the smile and thanks after they drop change in the Salvation Army bucket. Some find it in the anonymity of giving a present to Toys for Tots.
I find the spirit in lights.
I find the wonder of the Christmas season when I step outside to look up at the stars filling the dark sky, twinkling a message for me. I pause for just a moment, take a deep breath, and feel the humility and gratitude they send.
The magic of Christmas lights on homes in town touches my spirit, too.
The lights bring me to that quiet spot where I can sort out the message from the stars.
A few years ago, I couldn’t find that quiet spot.
As usual, I had lost track of the calendar.
We didn’t have a tree yet.
I needed to mail packages. That meant I needed to buy gifts. That meant I needed to think of what to buy.
Our annual mortgage was due. We had the calves and lambs to be sold, but the banker preferred a check to a trailer load of livestock. Nasty weather had delayed our plans to sell them so we had to rush to get them ready.
Then, my husband, Steve, had another worrisome report from his doctor, not life-threatening, but worrisome.
I forgot to look at the lights. I forgot to find the time to reflect on this season and the message from the stars.
One morning, I took the bull by the horns – or the ladder by the steps in this case – and stuck a string of lights up on our house. I stomped around the yard, insisting to myself that I would find my Christmas spirit if I had to drag myself through a snowbank to get there. I left the lights on day and night so they would remind me to take a deep breath, help me find time to slow down and reflect.
Two mornings later, as the kids and I were ready to walk out to the bus in the pitch dark, we jumped at a knock on the door.
A man had slid on the gravel of the county road, overcorrected and rolled his pickup onto its side in the snowbank. From a half mile away, he had seen our Christmas lights and walked through the deep snow across our pasture to ask for help.
Our Christmas lights showed him the way.
He warmed his hands around a fresh cup of coffee and, later, Steve helped upright his truck.
That night, I stood outside under the stars in the sky and took a few minutes to let them show me the way.
I found my Christmas spirit, through a man who found us through our lights.
Our Christmas lights shine day and night again this year -- just in case they will show another person one way to pause and think about the kindness and power and goodness of something larger than humanity.
Just in case the lights show another person that whatever happens is enough.
Merry Christmas.