When the Walls Start Crumbling Down

“Letting go doesn’t mean giving up, but rather accepting that there are things that cannot be.” ~ Anonymous


Christmas Eve was the day for a little home-building at the Carrington-Smiths. As we do every year, we purchased three gingerbread house kits – one for each child – extra icing and candy, and plenty of little extras to add to the decorations.

Thursday morning, the kids could hardly wait through breakfast to get started. We set all the supplies out on the kitchen table and proceeded to open the kits. To our disappointment, the walls in one of the kits were broken. “No fear,” I told the kids feeling more ambitious than normal, “we can try to fix the walls with a little icing before we set them up.” It sounded like a fun project to tackle…my son held the broken pieces and I squirted icing in between them; we then pushed the pieces together and waited until they dried out. By the time we had “glued” all the walls – each was broken in three or four pieces – I was halfway glued together myself, and certainly wore enough icing to be certifiably decorated for the holidays.

We finally set our fixed walls on the tray. It took but a handful of seconds for the whole structure to collapse. My kids looked at the house and then at me in horror, and tried to guess my next reaction. Indeed, my thoughts battled between throwing the blistered thing into the trash and trying again; finally I made a decision: Was there really a point in forcing together something that obviously was not meant to work? I could try to glue the pieces together one more time, but if they fell out once, they were probably going to crumble under the weight of the roof again. It was time to count my losses and go back to the store.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I was immediately reminded of the reason why I never go to the store on Christmas Eve – the parking lot was full and people were acting as if we were storing bunkers in preparation for a nuclear explosion. After being blessed with a parking spot – compliments of a lady who left when I got there – I made my way into the store. I went straight to the table where the gingerbread house kits were displayed, picked one up and headed toward the cash register. As I got ready to get in line, the automatic doors of the store opened to allow a lady in. She took a few steps toward the produce section, and then she thunderously yelled: “Happy Holidays, everybody!”

Serial killers could have been shopping that day, yet she didn’t care – her spirit was just too full of joy to be selective about the people she sent good wishes to. Watching that display of pure and unconditionally positive energy made me smile and it made my trip to the store quite special. If I had stayed home and continued to force together pieces that no longer fit, I would have missed this beautiful moment.

Sometimes we feel that by letting go of something that no longer works we are giving up on it, but in reality we are only accepting the fact that some things are just not meant to work. When the cracks are too deep, and efforts to fix the situation have failed, it is best to let go and make room for something new. The new gingerbread house only took a few minutes to put together since the walls were healthy and strong, and once the kids finished decorating it, it turned into a little masterpiece. The walls we weren’t able to use also went to serve a good purpose – we spread peanut butter and sprinkled birdseed on them for the wild animals living behind our house. What started as a disaster turned into a fun lesson to learn, and in the end we all had a wonderful time.

The True Story of Santa Claus

The true story of Santa Claus begins with Nicholas, who was born during the third century in the village of Patara - a Greek area at the time, which is now situated on the southern coast of Turkey. His wealthy parents, who raised him to be a devout Christian, died in an epidemic while Nicholas was still young. Obeying Jesus' words to "sell what you own and give the money to the poor," Nicholas used his whole inheritance to assist the needy, the sick, and the suffering.

Under the Roman Emperor Diocletian, who ruthlessly persecuted Christians, Bishop Nicholas suffered for his faith, was exiled and imprisoned. After his release in 325, Nicholas dedicated his life to help others. He died December 6, AD 343 in Myra and was buried in his cathedral church.

Through the centuries many stories and legends have been told of St. Nicholas' life and deeds. These accounts help us understand his extraordinary character and why he is so beloved and revered as protector and helper of those in need.

One story tells of a poor man with three daughters. Not being able to provide a dowry for his three daughters, he knew they would not find good husbands, and were therefore destined to be sold into slavery. Mysteriously, on three different occasions, a bag of gold appeared in their home, providing the needed dowries. The bags of gold, tossed through an open window, were told to have landed in stockings or shoes left before the fire to dry. This led to the custom of children hanging stockings or putting out shoes, eagerly awaiting gifts from Saint Nicholas. Sometimes the story is told with gold balls instead of bags of gold. That is why three gold balls, sometimes represented as oranges, are one of the symbols for St. Nicholas.

Nuns in France began leaving treats on St. Nicholas Eve, December 5th, for the small children of poor families. St. Nicholas' gifts were usually good things to eat: apples, oranges, nuts, and eventually cookies and sweets. The custom quickly spread across Europe and was adopted by both rich and poor.

The name Santa Claus was derived from the Dutch Sinter Klass pronunciation of St Nicholas. Early Dutch settlers in New York (once called New Amsterdam) brought their traditions of St Nicholas. As children from other countries tried to pronunce Sinter Klass, this soon became Santa Klass, which was settled as Santa Claus. The old bishop's red cloak was soon replaced with his red suit and clothing seen in other modern images.

http://www.stnicholascenter.org/Brix?pageID=38

Counting Down to Christmas

As the countdown to Christmas day continues, some are in the clutches of panic. “Two weeks!” exclaimed a lady to a friend, as they were waiting in line at a food kiosk in the local mall to grab a quick bite between one purchase and the other, “all I have is two weeks. How can I get everything done, in such little time?”

It wasn’t the words, as much as her shrill, nervous tone of voice that caught my attention. She was indeed frazzled. Although she was attempting to make small talk with her friend, describing her lengthy list of chores, she continued snapping at her two small children and darting her eyes back and forth as if ready to run for her life. Similarly, I’ve heard others referring to Christmas as something they couldn’t wait to pass, as if they were talking about a flu virus. Is this what Christmas has become, a dreaded list of chores?

Christmas is a time to love, to spread cheer and connect to others; it is a time of inner rebirth and renewal of the self, but for many it’s one of the most stressful times of the year. We have become so consumed with the importance of appearance and glitter that we are concerned of the way others will judge us if we can’t keep up with our “lists”. Sometimes, we just need to sit back and take a deep breath to see that things are not as overwhelming as they seem; if we don’t get everything done perfectly, life will continue, the sun will continue to rise and set, and all will still be okay.

Realistically, everyone could shop for all they need in one day. Most chain stores and malls carry a plethora of items, aimed at pleasing everybody. Something can always be found, even at the last minute. What truly matters in the gift giving business is the fact that we have taken the time to want to honor those we love with a small token which doesn’t necessarily need to match something on their wish list. Gift cards can be our friends, too. Those who don’t have the financial availability to shop much can probably afford one trip to a craft store to buy paper and a couple of markers; make nice, homemade, individualized cards, including a hand-written coupon for the type of personal help our loved ones might need.

Cooking is another puzzle I can’t find the pieces for; I hear people, two weeks ahead of Christmas, say the need to start cooking; what possibly can they have to cook that takes so long? Grandma will not be rolling in her grave if we aren’t baking her special sausage rolls recipe this year.

Christmas shouldn’t be about getting anxious over things that truly don’t reflect the spirit of the season. It is more important to smile and be kind to a stranger, than it is to stress over societal impositions. Let love be the main course, the rest is only garnish.

The Gift Box

Walking through the mall around Christmas time is an experience in itself. The air is impregnated with a fusion of warming aromas, and people look like a colony of ants, walking in and out of shops and carrying loads greater than their body weight. In the midst of all this, the main attraction is Santa, the magical old fellow dressed in red, surrounded by a mob of excited children and a line of weary moms, relieved that their little darlings’ outfits are still perfect for the picture with the good elf.

But what stands out most are the decorations; lots of them, bright and cheerful, crafty and classy, displayed along the hallways and inside overcrowded stores. In the window of one of these shops I saw something which caught my wandering eye: An array of beautifully wrapped gift boxes, stacked neatly for all to see, their sparkling wrapping paper glimmering in the bright spotlights beside a layout of expensive accessories.

Growing up with a mother who owned a retail store, I’m all too familiar with the grandiosity of Christmas decorations to attract business; after all, who would not be enticed by a gorgeous gift box, wrapped in gold paper and skillfully adorned with an exquisite velvet bow? To the exhausted eye of the tired Christmas shopper it’s a mirage of sorts.

As a child, I was in love with boxes such as those. They always had a special power over me; something looking that pretty had to contain an amazing gift. One day, curiosity had the best of me, and I sneaked out one of the beautiful “gifts”, eager to finally discover what incredible surprise was guarded within the refined packaging. I gently removed the ribbon with trembling hands – in part, probably, out of fear that my mother was going to catch me – and prepared to pull the tape which kept the beautiful paper tightly folded against the hard box. When I removed the paper and found a simple cardboard box I was slightly disappointed, but nothing had prepared me for the shuttering surprise once I finally lifted the lid: There was nothing in the box but tissue paper! Was this what I had risked getting in trouble for? I didn’t know whether to feel angry or upset; my beautiful gift, the one I had dreamt upon - and built castles in the air over - was nothing but an empty box.

As childish as that experience was, it taught me something very important that day: a gift can never be judged by the packaging it is wrapped in. Growing up, I realized the same applies to people.

Some of the most amazing people we meet don’t come in pretty packages; they may look or act rough; they may be someone we can’t imagine associating with; yet, they may yield a wonderful gift. The content of what they offer is precious, but it is presented humbly as they have no need to impress anybody, or blind anyone with artificial luster. The gift will stand for itself.

Our Mad Rush to Nowhere

While driving home from the City Cemetery, yesterday, I turned on the radio and scrolled through the stations to find a good tune; to my surprise, I found a Christmas song!
I am a Christmas enthusiast - and really get wrapped in the festivities - but that was a bit much, even for me. Tuning in to Christmas on the day after Halloween seems a bit of a mad rush; what about Thanksgiving?
That got me thinking about how much we rush through life; ready to jump on the next bus, eager to put the present in the past so we can focus on the future ahead. More times than not, we live in the wrong time zone. We either focus our thoughts on the past – and keep alive events that should by now merely be memories – or project ourselves in the future, as if the next event is secretly hiding the key of happiness we have longed for and not yet found.
We do this starting from very early on; as young tots we want to be big children, as children we long to be teenagers, as teenagers we wish to be adults. Once we make it to adulthood, we wish we could blink through the hard building years, so we can reach the point of being able to retire and enjoy the fruits of our labor, see our children grown, become grandparents.
We get so excited to discover what it will be like to live in the next stage, that we miss the wonderful opportunity of enjoying the stage we are in.
By making the future our present, our present becomes our past. The days we dismiss as uneventful - in favor of others which promise more excitement but might never even come - are days we will not get back.
It is time we slow down, and realize that life is a journey which should be taken slowly, step by step, not a speed race aimed at reaching the finish line.