Peace

It might be because I quit watching Fox News, but it's been a couple years since I've heard people talking about the War on Christmas, in which we have to save the baby Jesus from the liberal commies. But the other day I met one of the guerrillas on the front lines, and she brought it all back for me. I was waiting to send a package to my friend Britton who got lost on his way home and is stuck in Colorado, when the lady in front of me chastised the young clerk's "Happy Holidays" with an exasperated "Merry CHRISTmas." She stared at him for a few more seconds, chin down and eyebrows up, then turned to those of us in line, repeated herself in case anyone missed it the first time, and strode out of the building confident that the birth of Christ was once again secure.

I could talk about the fact that we as Christians are not the only ones celebrating a holiday this time of year. Or I could talk about the very word "holiday," how it is powerful and weighted with life.

But I think instead I'll talk about my family. This is my nephew Wyatt's first Christmas. Last Sunday he discovered his nostrils for the first time, and since then he's been riding through life with his thumb in his mouth and his finger up his nose. At some point we should probably stop encouraging it, but for now everyone gathers around and laughs and he is absolutely precious. That baby has affected my brother and his wife so dramatically, and watching them interact with each other and with Wyatt keeps bringing me the good kind of tears.

Today thirteen of us gathered for a Christmas Eve lunch. Food is a half-step below Jesus in my family, so everything was delicious and abundant. Competition is a half-step below food, so we followed lunch with some healthy trash talk and a convincing Ryan-Beau victory. After a mostly enjoyable church service, we came back to the house for more food and some family music featuring cello, piano, guitars, and the lovely vocals of Kathryn Denton.

This is a time for families to share and to savor, for distant friends to unite and enjoy the company of each other. It's not always pretty, and sometimes we have to make late night phone calls to apologize for being pissy about a score discrepancy, but this time, good and bad together, is rich. And it is sacred.

I hope the lady from the post office is with people right now. I hope the part of her that feels obligated to protect the sanctity of Christmas is experiencing some sort of healing. Maybe she was stressed about not getting her package off in time, and that's why she snapped at the postal employee who was obeying instructions. If that's the case, then I hope she's sitting at home with her family, amazed at how everything is coming together.

Because there is nothing in the world like those moments after the frenzy, when everyone is tired and full and together, when the only reason to get up is a coffee refill, and when the most thrilling sound in the world is the strange gurgling laughing noise coming from the baby.

To my friends, Christian and non-Christian and everything in between, I think about California and my family and my long-lost friend Britton and my upcoming trip to Jacksonville and baby Wyatt picking his nose, and I breathe deep, exhaling with a full and quiet Merry Christmas.

And next time someone offers you a neutral greeting in light of the fact that we are a diverse nation with beautifully diverse traditions, may you pause for a moment and agree that these are indeed Holy Days.

And love.