As I See It

Christmas has always been my least favorite major holiday. I think it goes back to when I was eight-years-old and my Christmas was ruined by poor gift-giving on the part of my parents. Childhood scars run so deep. I was a feisty, fun-loving kind of child. I had little use for fancy things or grown-up sensibilities. I liked imaginative play and the outdoors. So, when my parents got me diamond earrings and a jewelry box, I was a little disappointed. Scratch that, I was pissed. What could I do with those? Then, on top of my snub, my older brother received every stupid thing on his blasted list. Yep, everything. I was also a very mischievous and vindictive sort of kid, so, not content to just stew on my own, I tried to ruin his and my parents Christmas as well. Yeah, I was a peach. Thank the Lord for maturity and spiritual discipline. I have mostly left that sort of behavior behind. Mostly.

Of course there are things I love about this time of year. I love the smell in the air as it chills. I love drinking wassail and eating sweets until I swear I will never eat another sweet again. I love playing Mexican Train with my family, getting through three rounds before it breaks down in a quarrel of accusation and competitiveness. I love that this time of year there is always something fun to do, always something pretty to see. Over the years my beef with Christmas has dwindled into a mere annoyance. It has become less a problem of my wish-list and more an issue with overspending and commercialization. Most years I come away from celebrating with a depleted bank account and an unsettling sense of emptiness about the whole thing, which I quickly brush off as indigestion. Even for me, a believer, the holiday feels more like a shit storm of gifts and food, and less like a celebration of Jesus, family, and our blessings.

The other day I read an article about the Obamas’ and their “non-religious” celebration of the season, and some of my less attractive feelings about Christmas came screaming back. Our new “people’s President” has decided not to display the 18th Century Nativity Scene in front of the White House this year. This nativity has been displayed by every other President since the mid 1700’s, but Mr. Change thinks himself above that. Though you know he would never put it that way. Which brings me to my first major problem: Why are we celebrating Christmas as an either-or-holiday anyway?

Christmas has become another opportunity for people to segregate themselves. Either you believe Christmas needs Christ in it or you are just doing it for the gifts and merriment. Drunkenness and commercialization, or Religious introspection and piety. It’s so annoying I could just skip it. What about believing that, first of all, Jesus wasn’t born in December surrounded by Santa, a Christmas tree, and a bunch of tinsel; and second, believing it’s OK to just celebrate. Because, lets face it, the way we celebrate this holiday in America is just as much about Santa and his sleigh as it is about Jesus and the manger.

Christmas needs to be about the gathering of those dear to you. It shouldn’t be a statement of your faith, because that tarnishes your faith if it is. We don’t have to make a declaration about the state of our soul by taking a stance at Christmas. Pagans celebrate Christmas. Atheists put up lights and sing carols. No, Christmas needs to be about showing love to others, to those important to you, to strangers, to enemies.

Do we really need one more thing to separate us in this country? I used to work at a title company where most of my co-workers weren’t believers, or were seriously good at hiding it. I loved these people. They were real, funny, edgy, and full of strange beliefs and interesting anecdotes. And every year at Christmas we gave each other gifts. We put up a tree in the office. We sent out a card to our customers. There was no big discussion about whether or not the holiday we were celebrating was a “Christian thing” or a “Non-Christian thing”. Our belief system didn’t separate us because we chose to respect each other enough to not make it an issue, to not bring it up.

Respect becomes the problem. We have an issue in this country with respect. I don’t like to parade my opinions as fact, nor do I like to argue a point. I find the whole task of converting someone to my way of thinking kind of tedious, and, frankly, and little futile. However, many Americans, especially those in entertainment and politics, seem to think it is their job to make everyone feel the same way about things, all the while hiding behind a guise of individuality and the right to personal freedom.

To a degree I agree with that. I believe we all have the right to do whatever we want, God gave us free will. But, I also believe, within that right we must respect each other and ourselves. I do not agree with a lot of decisions I see people making. I do not believe that the choices of many are wise, but I do believe it is not for me to judge, only to remain true to my own belief within a corrupt world. It is my responsibility to raise my son accordingly. It is not my responsibility to condemn. God gave us a guide to a fruitful life, it’s up to us to follow it.

Tolerance is important. I am not someone who believes I know everything. (I know a lot. I’m very wise.) Only God knows everything. When you think about Christmas this year, I implore you to try something that may be a little different. Be a believer who loves those who aren’t. Or be someone who isn’t a believer and tolerate those who are. Christmas is a celebration of family and friends. We give because we love each other, not because we are Christians and not because we aren’t. I gave gifts to my coworkers, not because we stood together on the side of the line that said, “Keep Christ in Christmas”, but because they touched my life throughout the year and I wanted them to know.

If I had been wise beyond my years, I would have been thankful beyond comprehension that my parents gave me something so special when we had so little. As I have grown up I have learned that every gift has a purpose, and the purpose of Christmas isn’t material gifts, it’s something deeper. It’s showing you know someone. It’s honoring relationship. It’s blessing. It’s being blessed. This year, don’t be like Obama and make Christmas a political issue. Make it a love issue.

Pregnancy is magical. There is life growing within you. You feel the evidence every time your baby stretches, punches or kicks. You glow with fertile roundness. Everyone loves to see a pregnant woman. They hold the door for you. They open up extra check-out lanes at the grocery store with a smile. People who would otherwise never look your way or say a word to you, suddenly become verbose inquisitors. It is a beautiful, life-affirming time. Right?

Well, what about being late? What about when you cross the 40 week mark? What about when you thought you would be done with this glowing, brilliant time and yet, somehow, you aren’t? What about when your ass continues to expand and your hips feel like they are going unhinge from the sheer weight of your ever expanding uterus? What do you do when you feel like an actual planet, with gravitational pull and your own atmosphere?

You walk. You keep moving forward. You hope that, Earth’s gravity will somehow rip the baby you have so lovingly cherished for nine months from the confines of your blessed, dark womb and into the great, bright world the rest of us reside in.

You squat. You bear down into the floor. You believe that somehow if you can just get your legs wide enough apart for light to shine in, your precious bundle will follow the light, something you are sure he instinctually knows how to do.

You talk, loudly. Then you have your husband crouch down to a place you haven’t seen in months and exclaim with great authority as this child’s father to “Please, pretty please, come out and play.”  This you do in expectation that surely the baby will be courteous enough to comply.

Then, when none of that works, you cry. You sit on a hard chair in your backyard, the wind blowing sweetly across your skin, and you let it go. These are not tears of sadness. These aren’t even tears of anger or impatience. These are the tears of woman who is willing to admit when she is beat. The tears of woman who knows that truly nothing is in her control. Finally, she has seen she is not the author of this baby’s life, but just the facilitator of his coming forth. And these tears, somehow, bring clarity.

You pray. If your are wise you have been praying the whole time, listening for the answer, and trusting for the best. Though, if you are honest, you have probably also been telling the Lord what you want, instead of asking Him, as the child’s creator, what His thoughts are on the subject. So you pray again, first for forgiveness, forgiveness that you thought you could figure out His plan within the confines of your limited imagination. Then you pray for help, begging Him to look down and see you here in this state.

Then you wait. You wait for your Heavenly Father, who is also the Father to the one you carry, to answer. And you continue to wait. Not out of false humility or conjured patience. You don’t pretend you are thrilled with your current condition. You don’t paste on a smile and spout uplifting, if shallow, inspirational diatribes. You just wait. Honestly, totally, and without expectation.

You wait because you know that the journey you are on has been ordained by Him, and he knows when it is going to end. You wait because what fun would there be in knowing all the answers and having all the pieces laid out for you? You wait because you’d rather be late by the worlds clock, but right on time by God’s.

You wait.

***Updated***

8/18/09

Since the very first comment I ever received on my site ended in a question about the difference between what was placed in the Rants and Soapbox category, I thought I may as well post a little something about the distinction between the two. At first glance the two may appear to not be so different. They both involve a great deal of passion. Both relate to making a kind of speech. However, when examined closely they connote quite different meanings.

To rant, as defined by Webster, means: a bombastic extravagant speech; to talk in a noisy, excited, or declamatory manner; to scold vehemently. When I rant, I have been set off; be it by something I saw in the media or heard in conversation. Sometimes it’s merely a reaction to a lot of pent up energy or the compulsion to have an opinion about everything. Rarely does a rant carry the weight of a social issue or a serious concern on my heart. No, that is reserved for the Soapbox.

I have heard the term soapbox used throughout my life primarily by my mother. Or by my father clearing off the kitchen table for my mom to stand on when she went into one of her orations. For me, this was a term associated with great passion and emotion about a certain issue or problem in the world. Good ol’ Webster defines it as: an improvised platform used by a self-appointed, spontaneous, or informal orator; broadly: something that provides an outlet for delivering opinions. Where at one time we needed a box (table, chair, voice loud enough to be heard over everyone else), now we have the Internet.

So, since you were wondering, there it is, the difference between two things very close to my heart.

I’d like to begin by saying that I am truly blowing smoke right now. No, I’m throwing a temper tantrum. I just found out that the upcoming, highly-anticipated release of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince has now been pushed back to July 2009. Yeah, JULY-2009.

The release of the next Harry Potter film was a beacon of light on the horizon of the barren landscape that has been the 2008 production year. I had hope, that, if nothing else, I would at least enjoy one movie other than WALL-E. I would at least see one thing that brought excitement, sentiment, and fun back into an otherwise relatively dull year of cinema. And, if I can be frank, I have grown incredibly weary of how the entertainment industry seems concerned with very little other than profit.

In the article I read,  Alan Horn, President and Chief Operating Officer for Warner Brother’s had this to say:

 ”Our reasons for shifting ‘Half-Blood Prince’ to summer are twofold: we know the summer season is an ideal window for a family tent pole release, as proven by the success of our last Harry Potter film, which is the second-highest grossing film in the franchise, behind only the first installment. Additionally, like every other studio, we are still feeling the repercussions of the writers’ strike, which impacted the readiness of scripts for other films–changing the competitive landscape for 2009 and offering new windows of opportunity that we wanted to take advantage of. We agreed the best strategy was to move ‘Half-Blood Prince’ to July, where it perfectly fills the gap for a major tent pole release for mid-summer.”

OK, so it really is just about money. Were Mr. Horn an animated character in a Loony Toon he’d have dollar signs scrolling through his eyeballs right now. I think it’s great how he tries to make a plea for their case by bringing up the writers strike. Sorry, but wasn’t the writers strike brought on by greedy execs like Mr. Horn?  Which brings me to my main issue: If everything really is about revenue and money, is there any room anymore for the JOY of film?

I am someone who loves movies. I love sitting in a darkened, cool theater with my phone on silent and my eyes glued to the screen. I love the escape. I love being educated or enraged by a movie. I love laughing. I love how sometimes I cry so much I am embarrassed. I always find myself hoping that somewhere in the process of making a film I have enjoyed, someone involved enjoyed it as well. Then I read a quote like that of Mr. Horn’s and I realize, for a lot, it is just a job; just a cash cow. Jimmy Stewart once said, “Never treat your audience as customers, always as partners.” So, I ask you, where have all the true filmmakers gone?

I love Jimmy’s quote. Sure, he was already paid before the films he acted in even went into production(and, yes, times have changed), but that shouldn’t invalidate his statement. There was a time when filmmakers felt passionate about the relationship between themselves and us (the audience). Which makes me wonder: did the philosophy of making films for the joy of it go the way of the classics, left back in black and white, replaced by mass-appeal moneymakers with flash, green-screens, and shock value?       

I’ll leave you with this quote from director Francis Ford Coppola: ”The professional world was much more unpleasant than I thought.” And, as far as I can tell, I would probably agree with him. So even though Mr. Horn will likely never read this, I’d like to say, from me an avid film-goer and someone who recognizes it’s power: I wish that you would remember there is more to movies than money and the pursuit of a greater market share.

I should really begin by telling you that I abhor blogs. Not long ago I had a heated discussion with my husband about how bloggers were not real writers. (Which he promptly brought up to me, when I decided to make this blog. Yeah, it’s great being married to someone who listens to you.) I fought for the voice of all unheard writers trying to legitimately make it in this world. I believed that since anyone can blog, it took away the beauty, the uniqueness, of being chosen to write, to share fact or opinion, creativity or fantasy, with the world.

To blog is not to write, not really, because being a writer is more than just putting words together into sentences. Sure we write for ourselves, if not for ourselves the vast majority of writers would have no audience. However, hardwired into the make-up of almost every writer is the need for validation. That need for someone to read our words and make them mean something by printing them onto paper and distributing them to the world. Isn’t that right?

Well, maybe at one time that was the only way. Now, in a society where most research is done via the Internet rather than a library; most newspapers are lining boxes and wrapping produce rather than sharing Sunday morning breakfast with the family, blogging has somehow become an accepted form of reporting on the world. And, on one hand, I find it tragic. Technological progress has created for us a way of mass-producing opinions. Everyone has one, so everyone gets a voice.

It reminds me of that saying “Everyone is unique”. I like to better say, “Everyone has a unique gift”. I believe we are all gifted in one way or another, but the very nature of being a human, a part of society or culture, is that we are constantly trying to relate, to connect. While we all desperately hope to be different and seen as exceptional, we also desperately try to find common ground with others.

That brings me back to bloggers. Maybe the reason it is so prolific and abundant goes to the heart of our need as humans to connect. We need to know, out there, somewhere, there are others who see life through the same lens. Some bloggers will always just be people who want there voice to be heard where otherwise no one would listen (and maybe I’ll find I actually fall into that category, who knows?), which isn’t so bad as I may have previously thought. But others will inevitably be real writers, with real views or real talents for word-smithing. Those may find that angle hidden in the shadow waiting earnestly to be brought into the light, that one idea that will truly change someone or something. So, hey, blog all you want, and so will I, there’s no harm I suppose in trying.