Good intentions have, once again, gone awry, traded for boxes wrapped in festive paper and tied with a big bright bow.
Christmas was so much simpler when you believed in Santa, and left it up to him to bring all the gifts.
But it sure doesn’t seem likely that he’s going to be sliding down the chimney this year … and you’re left looking over the gift list and wondering what to do.
Your brother-in-law was laid off and his unemployment is about to run out. Your daughter is working two jobs and barely making ends meet. Your son has gone back to school, hoping to escape his dead-end job and start a new and fulfilling career … if he can afford the books and tuition in the meantime. Nobody talks about it, but your niece’s house is on the brink of foreclosure, and you know your sister is struggling to make the minimum payments on the credit card bills.
“Ho ho ho” sounds more like a grim “oh no no” this year.
Everyone says the right things, of course.
“All that matters is that we’re together.”
“I don’t need anything … don’t want any gifts this year.”
“The most important gift of all is time spent with one another.”
“It’s the thought that counts.”
Yet, everywhere we turn, we are bombarded with relentless reminders that it’s what’s under the tree that counts … and that love is measured by the price tag.
Little children and grandchildren – bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked, angelic and innocent – sing a chorus of “I want’s” as television commercials advertise “the true meaning of Christmas” – some assembly required. And many adults, equally bright-eyed although perhaps not as angelic or innocent, have fallen into the trap as well, after a lifetime of Dec. 25 experiences that validate the theory that you really can buy love. Or something close enough.
But this year will be different, you say. You express solidarity with Charlie Brown, taking a stance against the commercialism that threatens to take over the world.
So this year, you say, you are just going to bake cookies instead of buying gifts. This year, instead of spending money, you’re going to spend time, visiting with your loved ones. This year, your family will gather and listen quietly to the retelling of the story from the Book of Luke – a guy who knew about gifts that don’t come from a mall – and then perhaps you will all go out together to sing Christmas carols to shut-ins or serve soup at the homeless shelter.
This year, you will keep the main thing the main thing, and – no pun intended – you will refuse to buy into the rampant materialistic attitude that has spread across society like some kind of mutant kudzu evergreen.
But … well, it gets complicated.
After all, we love our family and friends, we really do. And gifts are, after all, an expression of love … aren’t they?
Maybe a small gift? Something modest; that would be all right, wouldn’t it? Except, well, that inexpensive gift looks just plain cheap, and that simply won’t do as an appropriate representation of how we really feel.
And before we know it – we’re right back where we started.
Standing at a cash register, debit card in hand, our good intentions being swept away with our purchases flowing along the conveyor belt …
You load the sacks into the shopping cart and trudge out to the parking lot, discouraged. This isn’t what you wanted at all. Your good intentions have, once again, gone awry, traded for boxes wrapped in festive paper and tied with a big bright bow.
Next year, you vow, loading packages into the trunk of your car. Next year will be different.
Next year, you’ll believe in someone besides Santa.