Christmas is my favorite time of year. The magic of wonder. Peace, love, hope, & joy. Yuletide greetings. Snow, brightly colored trees, and outdoor light displays. As a child, it was a time of scanning the evening sky for Rudolph’s blinking red nose and forcing myself to sleep in spite of all the excitement. As I got older and some of the obvious magic fell away (who knew that Rudolph’s nose was just an airplane?), Christmas changed a bit. Instead of a fantasyland experience where reindeer can fly and legions of little elves make toys in a gumdrop covered North Pole workshop, it was more about the connections we have to each other.

This year feels different. It could be a number of things. For starters, there isn’t any snow on the ground. That’s kind of unusual in Minnesota for December. A fresh blanket of white brings a little extra something to the equation. There’s a reason why so many holiday songs mention snow (or a lack thereof). It could also be that I’m currently in the process of selling my house and looking for a new one. It’s hard to feel like you’re home when you’re in between them. But mostly I think it’s that 2020 has been a year from hell and none of us can safely gather together.

My parents loved hosting gatherings at our house growing up. My mother is a homemaker in a traditional sense. She loves baking and decorating for every season. I was never for lack of a calendar growing up. To know what time of year it was all you need do is open your eyes. Are there pastels and ceramic bunnies everywhere? Then it must be Easter. Too many American flags? July 4th. Was my father hiding in the bushes with a microphone and amplifier scaring children while terrifying music played? Halloween. But Christmas was the granddaddy of them all.

The first of many, many, (too many) nutcrackers

We did not have a lot of money growing up. That isn’t to say we were impoverished. I am fortunate enough to say that until I was a teenager I had no idea that we were in a lower income bracket than most of the people who lived in our suburban commuter town. I’ve never gone to bed hungry or worried about housing. But brand name products were for other families. Despite this, my parents did not skimp on Christmas.

I don’t remember exactly what year this happened but one festive season in my teenage years my mother announced that we’d be having two trees. One for all our “lovable junk” like ornaments we made in 3rd grade from construction paper and the random collection of lights we’d accumulated over the decades; and another that would have a more thought-out design and be a little classier. For the nice tree, the one that was upstairs, we’d string what felt like miles of popcorn and cranberries and it would only be adorned with white lights.

My brother and I (why yes that is a South Pole sweater I’m wearing…IDK)

My mom would bake cookies and various loaves of bread for all her friends and deliver them along with some home-canned vegetables and jellies to spread the yuletide joy. It was never about the value of the gift with my mom. She did not care if you spent $5 or $500. “It’s the thought that counts,” she would say. She’s a true lover of sentiment. Christmas growing up was about the smell of a hot oven, wayyyy too many decorations (a tradition I continue in my adult life), and JESUS.

Why yes, that is me as Joseph, along with Mary and Baby Jesus

I’ve been an angel, a shepherd, a sheep, and of course one of the stars: Joseph. It was a thing in Sunday School to get the good parts in the annual Christmas Pageant. All the girls wanted to be Mary (unless Joseph was a dork because, ew, who’d want to be pretend-married to a dork?) and all the fellas wanted to be Joseph or a Wise Man. The Wise Men had props (their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh) AND crowns so they were really the best role. Joseph had a bunch of stage time but not a lot of lines. Everyone else was basically set dressing.

My parents made sure that CHRIST was always part of Christmas. So much so that my mom cannot stand it when people use Xmas. “You’re taking the whole point of the season out of the word!” She had multiple manger scenes. And we would always go to church on Christmas Eve. And of course, Christmas Sunday. My mom would rage about all the hypocrites who had taken up all the parking spots and only came to church on Easter and Christmas.

As an adult agnostic, I still enjoy the Christmas Eve service. I haven’t been to it in person in some years but I watch the live stream. You can see their services here each week. I don’t engage with it for the magic and virgin-birth and all that stuff. The music is beautiful. The service is simple. And it ends in darkness with each congregant holding a candle. That’s real magic.

This year, I feel a bit like Mariah. I don’t care about the presents under the tree and I haven’t hung my stocking up. Something just feels… off. I think it’s that sense of fraternity with the world and your fellow man that’s taken a hit this year. Our country is so divided politically. Even if we weren’t, we couldn’t gather because of a runaway virus. To me, it feels as though this year has taken place behind a wall of sadness and division. Which makes sense since we’ve lost so many of our countrymen and women to a terrible plague. There’s going to be a lot of empty seats and unopened presents this year.

So many people are worried about their jobs, their rent, and what will happen to their families if they get sick. Imagine having to say goodbye to your parents over Zoom? It’s happened. A lot. And every story breaks my heart because it is somewhat preventable. Between the political stuff and the mass deaths, it just isn’t very Hallmark movie-ish.

It can’t be great all the time, otherwise, we’d never appreciate it. The lows suck but they help make the highs even better. This is a down year for a lot of people in a lot of ways and I suppose I am privileged that my biggest gripe right now is that it doesn’t feel very Christmas-y. I am grateful for what I do have: friends and family who care about each other and are healthy. There is a lot of love in my life and that’s more than anyone can ask for this time of year.

I am hopeful that 2021 will bring something better. Will it? Who the heck knows. I’ve said “next year will be better” for half a decade now and things only seem to get worse. I have spent Christmases in the past completely by myself and this year, despite having people around, feels a lot like that. Yes, the day will still be special for what we CAN share, but there is something missing.

I’ll be grateful and delighted with every present I open. I’ll love seeing people over FaceTime and sharing my bubble with whoever I can. As Faith Hill said, “My world is changing, I'm rearranging… Does that mean Christmas changes too?” I think so, Faith. For this year it seems we all have to change our expectations and be happy for whatever blessings we have.

You’ll notice I didn’t put any photos of my mom in this post. She’ll hate me for saying this but she’s a little vain about how she looks in photos and Christmas morning is a more casual affair. I didn’t want to make public anything she might not like. So here’s a photo from last year when she was able to come and visit on my birthday. We went and picked out a tree together and she helped decorate it. It was November, so it was a little early, but we made due. And that’s what we’ll have to do this year.

Have a safe and happy holiday this year. Count your blessings and trust that next year will be better.

Where Are You Christmas?