How can I enjoy the holidays when there’s so much suffering going on in the world?
Well… I can and I do.
And it doesn’t require shutting my eyes, covering my ears or abundant doses of alcohol and medication. I don’t need Christmas music and repeated watching of “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “A Christmas Carol” to keep me in the holiday mood.
I can’t claim a lifetime of joyous Christmases when my mood sparkled and jingled throughout the entire season. Most people can’t. Only Alvin and the Chipmunks can. Even Santa Claus, looking out his window from the North Pole, seeing poor children going without, evidence of miserable, heart crushing poverty throughout the world, has moments of sorrow and disillusionment.
It takes some mental effort to find good will toward men (and women), to sing tidings of glad joy. (It takes mental effort for my audience to avoid grimacing when I do sing.) It takes physical effort, along with the mental, to sustain the good cheer throughout the months when merchants shove the holiday in our faces.
But almost without fail, long since the sad days of my younger years have gone away, I get my Christmas decorations out the weekend after Thanksgiving. Five bins opened and an hour of unwrapping later, my small home is transformed into a shiny, red and green place that lifts my spirits each evening upon returning from work.
Yes, Christmas is commercialized, canned, packaged and sold at bargain prices on TV, radio and in stores. Somehow, that doesn’t bother me the way it bothers many people. I figure that a lot of people need the holiday jobs. Retailers have businesses that need the boost. A lot of people count on the holiday sales to help them make Christmas a bit more joyful for their children. Local enterprises like the Botannical Center here, the First Thursday art events, food banks, and many others rely on this holiday hubbub to further their goals. The benefits outweigh the bad or, at least, bring the outcome to neutral. None of this Christmas commercialism and gaudiness anesthetizes me to the point I’m unaware of the misery around me. I can juggle joy and distress at the same time.
Fortunately, as the years go by, I no longer recall the sad holiday seasons, the quietly desperate Christmases I experienced. Rather, I recall the joyful Christmases of being with family and beloved pets. And I recall one very special Christmas, the one that took place during the end of my sister’s first marriage.
I was living in Minnesota at the time; she lived in Florida. She was torn over where to go next, knowing she couldn’t stay there. I begged her to move to Minnesota to live with me and I sweetened the deal with my heated garage space and a brand new heavy winter coat. (She owned a small convertible, which would have been brutalized by the Minnesota winters.)
So, on Christmas Eve, I flew down to Florida. The excitement and joy of having my sister back in my life, after decades of being apart, dulled my anxiety over the long drive ahead of us. She met me at the airport in her sun-worshipping convertible and we began our road trip back to the Midwest. The first day of driving was fairly uneventful. On the second day, her little car began to feel the challenge of driving in snow and ice. But, no matter. We were full of holiday cheer. She was escaping the misery of disappointment and betrayal. I was getting my sister back.
On the second day, Christmas, we estimated that we had a ten-hour drive ahead of us before we reached LaCrosse, Wisconsin, where we would spend the holiday with my husband’s family. And at the top of each hour along that trip, I would hunt for and open a present that my sister had hidden in her little convertible.
We talked about the past, we talked about the future, we made plans, we sang Christmas songs and we held close to us every bit of holiday cheer that we could. And, on Christmas evening, we drove up to my in-laws home just as they were standing at the table to say the dinner prayer. We joined hands with them and we thanked God for the safe journey and arrival and for being together finally.
That one memory serves as an antidote to whenever a dark mood descends upon me at Christmas time. All you need is one—one good one. What’s yours?
Here’s a Christmas video that in all likelihood could actually turn me against the holiday:
Artist, illustrator, writer and owner of two Boston Terriers. Living in Boise, Idaho at the base of the beautiful foothills. My art website is www.snoringdogstudio.com.
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