Christmas 2020: In the Nick of Time

By Susan Flansburg

This is the year I had to search my soul for Christmas spirit. It was nearly lost to me as I plodded through a season now defined by absence rather than abundance. People, plans, places and traditions were off my calendar. The traditional frenzy of gift-buying, albeit online, and wrapping diverted me for a while. But in the end, with no guestroom to prepare, I was left alone with my thoughts.

Which strayed, as I considered the appearance of the Christmas star, to the urgent question: What does Christmas mean to me, anyway?

The answer came to me, yes, in the Nick of time.

I awakened thinking of how my parents had prepared a Christmas welcome for me and my family every year. They had made the beds, filled the fridge, stacked gifts beneath the Christmas tree. They had decorated every corner of their home. They had greeted us at the door as we pulled up.

They weren’t just playing Santa. They were being Santa, embodying the place where giving and receiving become the same.

They had filled my stocking – my hope and my anticipation – to the brim, with their full-hearted graciousness, attention and welcome. I thought about my own preparations. Had I offered that same full-hearted graciousness, attention and welcome to my own loved ones this year? The answer is no.

Yes, I bought and wrapped and delivered gifts. I agreed to Zooms over meals and gift exchanges. I decorated my own home (although not as fully as if we were hosting guests). I played Santa.

But I discovered my weak spot, courtesy my parents. It was the spot where I had let anger grow and bloom. It was where I not only robbed my loved ones, I robbed myself.

That spot was in the stockings. I had pronounced against them. There would be no stockings hung by the fireplace this year. Why should there be? If Page’s family couldn’t join us, by God, we wouldn’t act as if everything was normal. We wouldn’t hang the things. No one would be here to enjoy them.

“No one” was a proxy, I now realize, for the traditions that had been upended by the coronavirus.

It was a teeny tiny place to express my rage. An undetected, safe place.

But then I told Jamie. His face changed to one of disbelief and grief. I said, you have plenty of gifts under the tree. He said, that’s not the point.

When I told Alan later of Jamie’s reaction, Alan immediately said he would ensure Jamie had a stocking. Alan would be Santa.

I had to take it into the quiet of my dreams to understand what happened. I had not prepared a place for Jamie, or for Alan, or for myself. I had not been the full-hearted, gracious, welcoming soul I know I am called to be. I had not been Santa, but only played the role.

It turns out that this is what Christmas means to me.

Merry Christmas. May love fill your heart and hope fill your stocking for all time.