Ever since my life took a shift in course, my perspectives on what really matters also shifted. When I walked away, I left many of the worldly things behind. All the furniture we had collected over 17 years, and all the decor, everything I had spent years collecting and arranging and organizing.
I had gotten to the point where those things mattered so little to me. And so it didn't really hurt to leave it all behind. I didn't want it anymore anyway. Even when the Christmas decorations came to mind, I couldn't see wanting to take them even though I had a killer Christmas tree decked out like one of those fancy ones at the Pottery Barn. In my opinion, I had never had a more beautiful tree than the one that graced our living room every year. Each ornament, glass tear drops, diamond gems, sparkling, heavy crackled silver balls, bedeazzled shooting stars, most of them individually purchased from the Pottery Barn over a period of years. And, of course, lots and lots and lots of sparkling lights! It was my favorite thing about the Christmas decor. And yet, I didn't want any of it. I wondered if maybe I was in a "nothing matters" mood and whether I would regret not taking these things with me. But it wasn't a mood, it was a new perspective.
And I'm happy to say that the perspective hasn't changed in the last year. All those things I left behind? I am free of them and they don't bog me down any more. Our current tree is small but covered in 600 lights and sprigs of berries. The simplicity of the tree is a comfort and no longer a distraction. And I love that. I am so much more focused on the meaning of Christmas this year than I've ever been. I don't have the massive amount of Christmas decor that I used to have either (only my village and my nativity; and a wreath on the door).
Every year, in the past, I would deck my halls with boughs of berries, santa soap dispensers, angel and snowman and nutcracker collections, blankets and pillows and special pictures. And I know that many people do that and I'm not knocking it at all. In fact, today we are visiting an old neighbor who decorates her home like an absolute wonderland. I think it's lovely and I celebrate those that do that. It's just not for me anymore. All those things seemed to weigh me down and overwhelm me. I used to get to the point (around mid December) when I couldn't hardly wait to put all the Christmas crap away and get my house back to normal. I don't know why I found it necessary to overwhelm myself with the busy things of Christmas that had no value, to the point where it actually made me sick. It was like I was just doing all the things I was supposed to be doing; all the things that a good homemaker does for the holidays. But I'm so free now and I feel like a million bucks. This is my 2nd minimalist Christmas and I'm still absolutely loving it. In fact, I feel bogged down even with my village. I would be happy with just a little tree and my nativity. But I hand-painted every house in my village and I feel like that dictates that it should be meaningful or something.
So this minimalist approach to Christmas has been so rewarding. This is the first year that I have ever felt exceptionally fulfilled during the holiday season. I have spent more time on family and friends, building relationships and treasuring the gift of the season, enjoying the music, teaching my kids about God's sacrifice and not focusing on the gift buying. So, if you don't get a gift from me this Christmas, it's not because I don't love you or value you, it's because I'm having a hard time seeing the value in the material things we exchange and I'd rather share an experience with you than buy you something pretty.
So many of us read the Christmas stories of yesteryear when a single gift was exchanged with someone they loved. A gift that was thoughtful, meaningful, significant, and purchased or made with sacrifice. Today, the kids are overwhelmed with the amount of gifts they get and it's really quite disturbing for them. One year, Christmas was spent with a larger portion of the family, my kids started to whine and fuss, "We don't WANT to open another present! There's too many!" I know that sounds crazy for kids to say but it is possible to flood them with meaningless stuff and that kind of messes up their sense of true north, you know what I'm saying?
One of my most treasured Christmas memories was when my sister and I were left home alone while my parents ran an errand with our little brother. We laid down in front of the Christmas tree and sang Christmas carols together by only the light of the Christmas tree. I have treasured that memory in my heart for years and dreamed of someday experiencing something like that year after year. We didn't sing in parts or anything; we were probably about 8 and 10 years old. We were just singing and savoring each word from each carol, the sparkling Christmas tree lights shining their colorful lights on the pages of the songs. I have seen that image in my mind about a million times and every, single time, a warmth grows in my heart and the simplicity of the moment is what brings me peace.
Peace. Pax. Linişte. Pace.
No matter what language you say it in, that's what I really want for Christmas. Yes, yes, peace on earth and all that jazz, but not just in the general sense. I want peace to reign in my home and in my heart so that wherever I go it can shine out and provide peace amidst the hustle and bustle of what this season has become for the rest of the world.
This morning, as I was writing, my daughter looked at the tree and said, "Mommy, why don't we have a star on the top of our tree?" I told her that the star was in her heart and that the meaning of the season was not to draw our attention to what stood at the top of the tree but to Who lived inside her heart. Sure, it might have sounded like a weak excuse for the fact that I just didn't consider a star to be that important. But she bought it and seemed okay with it.
The only gifts I want for Christmas are the ones that remind me that Christ's peace reigns and His love covers the multitude of our mistakes this last year. Singing christmas carols with people I love, enjoying the snow in the mountains and standing in awe of His creation, sitting by the light of the fire and reading to my kids. These are the gifts that will last. And I'm not just saying it; I'm absolutely serious. These are the gifts I desire and the memories I will cherish.
Last year, I stood in a cluttered room, among boxes and things and stuff, and yet in the middle of that clutter, three of us were able to dust off our voices, add a guitar, and sing a few Christmas carols about a little baby who changed the world. And this time we sang in harmony, too! It was my most treasured memory from last year and the gift that has brought warmth to my heart many times over. That memory had a greater impact on me than any material gift I received.
And that's all I want for Christmas. Memories that will elicit reminders of peace.
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