A Broken Jingle Bell

For the past few years, I have had a very hard time getting into the holiday spirit. This year, I didn’t really at all. The only Christmas songs I listened to were when CJ turned on a Christmas playlist for the kids. I avoided it in the car. I avoided it if I was home alone with the kids. It just feels so broken and disjointed. I feel like the family of the little boy in The Polar Express who can’t hear his bell from Santa’s sleigh ring. I’ve lost the spirit.

I stress over gifts I can’t afford, but feel obligated to buy. I dread the multiple family gatherings. What ever happened to everyone coming to celebrate together? I mean, I could celebrate Christmas any random day in December and my kids would never know the difference because there are still two more Christmases for them to celebrate this season. This is part of the reason it doesn’t really mean anything to me anymore. Christmas is not about gifts. It is about family. And I miss them. I know they always come to celebrate with us, but it’s just not the same when it is a week or two after.

There was one, brief moment on Christmas Day – before church and before I had to go to work – that made me remember that child-like wonder of the season. Q was the first up, was is not normal, so I said I would wake up MJ. I jumped on his bed and said, “Santa was here.” His eyes got real big and he pushed me out of his way to lunge out of bed. His bare little feet slapped against the floor in the hallway until he arrived in the living room. I then watched him drop to his knees in front of the Christmas tree, raise his hands in awe, and whisper “Santa.” It was a beautiful moment and the only time I really felt the spirit. I can’t wait until the girls are a little older and able to enjoy Santa as well. I have hope that their belief will restore mine.

I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas and I wish you a Happy New Year.

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