Leaving Room for Magic with Camille Watson
My holiday season, all too often, is fraught (love that word!) with too many city sidewalks, too much holiday bustle, and not enough time for what really matters. Well, what really does matter? You can’t always divorce yourself from all of the goings and doings. After all, sometimes what matters is getting a gift ready early so you won’t have to stand in line at the post office to ship it. Trolling the internet for the best price on the thing-a-ma-bob that your son wants? Necessary, probably. Standing in line for two hours at Best Buy the day you can get the TV for half price? You can justify that one as well. I’ve done all that. But in the end, that kind of stuff leaves me cold, and makes me feel like Christmas is just a bunch of work. (Bah! humbug.)
What I find myself longing for is the Christmas of my childhood, when everything was beautifully decorated and gifts appeared magically under the tree. Songs were sung and verses were read and programs were orchestrated — all by someone else (probably my mom. Thanks Mom!)
But when you get to the heart of it, what I really long for is family and friends, a fire in the fireplace, good conversation, laughter, deep rest and joy. And so I’ve tried to take a break from all the frantic going and doing. And, I’ve been at least partially successful. A few weeks ago, Brad and I gathered at Sunspot with friends and then went to see A Christmas Carol at UT. I’ve decorated a Christmas tree with treasured ornaments, petted my kitty (who thinks we planted a live tree in the living room just for her), sung gustily to A Pentatonix Christmas, and attended the Knoxville Children’s Theater where I saw my nephews perform the play Godspell. Friday night I’ll participate in a night of caroling with some close friends and family. Saturday I’ll put on a pot of soup in preparation for Christmas Eve dinner and gift exchanging with my family - my husband, my mom and my kids. Sunday, Christmas Day, we’ll begin the day with worship, followed by a big Christmas dinner and an afternoon with my husband’s side of our family.
And there you have it - a very quiet Christmas. One that leaves room for breathing and singing and good conversation. One that leaves room for what really matters. One that allows me to touch, and be touched, by those I love the most. One that leaves room for the magic of Christmas. May your days be merry and bright, my friends.