Apparent Grace

Earlier this week, my husband and I attended a holiday gathering of friends.  After dinner, our hostess invited everyone  to share a Christmas memory.  All of those present were at least middle-aged.  There were a few memories offered of recent Christmases–our community experienced a very rare Christmas Eve snowfall a few years ago following months during which several of us had parents die, and more than one of us mentioned that beautiful and almost-never-happens snow.  A few of us mentioned childhood Christmases, traditional decorations,  and favorite toys.

A surprising number of us offered Christmas memories from adolescence and early adulthood.  There were stories of trips taken with friends during college breaks and of first Christmases away from family, chosen or not.  Many of these were funny stories about travel mishaps.  A few of them were stories about surprises and expectations that were unmet and yet transformed.  The stories were about adventure and about separation.  They were also about discovery and authenticity and beginning to consider creating one’s own Christmas traditions.  As friends told these stories, they appeared enlivened by the telling.  It was easy to imagine them as teenagers, laughing and seeking adventure.

I wondered later about the specific poignancy of adolescence and Christmas and this theme of striking out on one’s own during the very season generally thought of as a family celebration.  It was interesting to me that so many of our friends drew Christmas memories from their teenage years.  Perhaps it is in the darkness of this season, waiting for Light to come, that we may feel closer to our adolescent selves (and those adolescents near us now).  We want tradition and connection, and, like teenagers, we still yearn for something new to happen, for someone new to come along.  Although we may treasure all we have known, the very heart of Christmas lies in this newness and in the excitement of anticipation and surprise.  Like teenagers, during Christmas we may open most easily to new love, to new hope, to new grace–all the while steeped in profound history and tradition. In the midst of this adolescent paradox, we are drawn to the past and future simultaneously and we find ourselves in the present, open to surprise and adventure once more.

Let us honor adolescence in all its proud and brave glory, within us and around us, this Christmas–may we seek and discover what newness is waiting to be born, in our hearts and in our world.

Way #1:  Exuberant planning for perfect holiday celebrations, decorations, gifts AND wrapping, dinners, parties, wardrobe, cards and greetings, concerts, outings, reunions, and family relationships–all with photogenic smiles and all with impeccable outcomes.  This is the approach that sells magazines.  I don’t know anyone who has ever actually traveled this path.  I include it as #1, recognizing that it is more of an archetypal path than a real one.

Way #2:  Trying to follow path #1, only to eventually collapse in frustration, tears, anger, exhaustion, or worse.  Sometimes, much worse.

Way #3:  Giving up the struggle to have perfect holidays and falling into the past, into treasured memories that may or may not reflect actual events.  Treasured memories can light our path and bring joy to our celebration.  We can anchor our holiday frenzy in happy recollection of our early experience.  This might be a step toward holidays that are a “better fit” for us as we recall what has meant most to us.  This way has risks, though–not everyone has happy early memories to draw upon, and if we get stuck in “the good old days” we can get stuck in sadness and even bitterness.

Way #4 (and #5 and #6 and #10,000 and #658, 934 and on and on):  Sometimes, if we are very lucky, we can open to a moment-by-moment awareness and noticing of the small and wonderful experiences that flow through our days and nights during the holidays.  We can choose to watch and listen and wait and receive each moment and its gifts.  Small children and very elderly adults are best at this.  They practice being available and so they are able  to receive whatever comes.  While we may no longer be small children, we are all traveling through our lives toward the days when we will again, as we age, have the opportunity to practice being available, being open to what appears moment-by-moment, without having to plan or control what happens.  What would it be like to practice being available now?  We undoubtedly have responsibilities and we surely desire to do all we can to offer happy holidays to those we love.  And, we always have choices.  We really can choose to be intentional about our holiday practices, especially the practice of being available.  Available to those we love, available to ourselves, available to the Holy One.  In so doing, we become available to the world around us at a heart level.  We will know sadness and frustration in some moments.  We will also know love and joy.  Anton Chekhov wrote “We shall find peace.  We shall hear angels, we shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.”

May we find our way as we approach the holidays and as we travel through our lives all the way home.