Rose in Winter

 

And if my stocking hung too high,
Would it blur the Christmas glee,
That not a Santa Claus could reach
The altitude of me?
                                                 — Emily Dickinson

Wait for it…

Christmasssssssss! It’s sparkle season, ugly sweater season, hot chocolate season, fireplace season, fuzzy blanket season, singing season, everything warm and cuddly season! Seeing how Christmas is only four days away, and I’m just now getting the chance to do a little writing, it’s proof to me that time whizzes past me and leaves me all dismantled. When I finally straighten myself out, I’m stunned. I also turn 17 in five days. (!!!) I don’t feel like I should be 17. I mean, I do, but I really don’t.

Anyways, I’ve loved the pretty lights, the happy music, the fancy parties, and this entire season itself. After all, I am a December baby. Maybe I was born with some extra Christmas-joy syrup in me. I guess I belong in a stocking, like I was when I was a tiny baby. Safe and sound, tucked away high above a fireplace. Invincible and burritoed in fuzzyness. 

I think about that sometimes when I see people get so caught up in the commercialism of Christmas. I want to distance myself from that. In those moments, I want to stay high above it in a safe stocking, and watch the whole thing play out beneath me like a moving-toy village. It’s overwhelming. Christmas isn’t very peaceful.

The lights are spectacular, and I love the music, but I have a headache. So I close my eyes for a minute.

It’s dark and hazy. I must be sitting on dry hay, cause it’s poking through my jeans like little toothpicks. It’s dusty in here, and the particles swirl around like little fairies. It smells like the color yellow, like musty hay and cow manure. (I must be in Nebraska. I have to be.) The air is so thick that I could swipe my hand through it and clump it up like play-doh. It’s also incredibly hot in here, even though it’s December. I wipe sweat off my lip. I hear some cows mmmeeeeeeerrr next to me and chew their cud. I start thinking of all the things that make my heart feel sore, cause that’s what I do when I’m alone staring at hay. A horsefly lands on my thigh and starts rubbing his legs together, looking like he’s about to murder me. I swat at him. All of a sudden, I feel enormously lonely. Like the heart I have doesn’t belong to me anymore. Since when did I start feeling so much? I think I’m blistering inside. Feelings that are much sharper than this hay are biting me. And they won’t let go, no matter how hard I try to yank them off. Wow. Some Christmas.

I thought maybe Christmas would numb the pain. I thought maybe the magical air would leak into my system and help coat the yucky sores. It doesn’t really work that way though. Christmas is beautiful, but it’s so much more complex than seemingly happy moments. Christmas is raw. It is full of every emotion, good and bad. Joy and loneliness. Peace and chaos. Fear and excitement. Christmas is the beginning of a glorious romance, one between us and a Savior. Sure, we all want a white Christmas, but the real Christmas was smelly, dusty, hot, and painful. But it was breathtaking in every way, an absolute miracle. And that is something that society, or any light show, or any present, or any kiss under the mistletoe could never compare with.

Yes, I feel lonely sometimes. I can feel distant and scared. But I know who I am, and I’m not any of those things. I bleed a rich color of beautiful insanity. My eyes glitter with passion, and words are hidden in every intricate vein that dances beneath my skin. I feel so much, and my heart breaks, but I am strong because of a baby born in a barn on Christmas.

So we have hope. We have hope because of Christmas. And we can sparkle a little brighter this year, and sing a little louder, and hug a little longer because we are blessed to be able to do these things freely in America. We are raw human beings, and Christmas itself may not heal our sores, but the God who was born in a smelly barn that day can.

Have the merriest of Christmases dear readers. Don’t forget the gift you carry inside of you, the sparkling gift of your spirit, passion, and life. Eat all the cookies you can, and of course, jump for joy on Christmas morning. 🙂