Letting Go of Christmas

It's January 7. A mere hop, skip, and jump away from Martin Luther King, Jr., Day and Valentine's Day. Time to box up the Christmas tree and retire the Christmas CDs for another year. But every year at this time I find myself resisting it. After so much build-up, so much expectation, and only 24 puny hours of actually celebrating—I don't want to let go. Christmas is my favorite time of year (and you'll realize that's saying something if you know how much I dislike winter), and I love feeling all Christmasy. I love that stores are prettier, dark streets are brighter, people are friendlier, food is tastier.

And then—THUD!—it's January. Dark. Dingy. Cold. Loooooooong. And of course the inevitable stuffy noses and sore throats.

If I were in charge, Christmas would last two weeks. You're probably thinking, "Where have you been, lady? It lasts three months!" But I don't mean shopping-mall Christmas; I mean real Christmas. The kind of Christmas we only experience on December 25. The kind that makes me feel so warm and peaceful and thankful inside. It's that feeling that I hate to give up when I pull the stockings and lights down. And 364 days (365 this year!) seems like such a long wait for its return.

Then I shake myself out of my January gloom and realize it's not December 25 that creates that feeling. It's the Person we celebrate that brings that kind of peace, and He's around even in January.

So I'll go listen to Judy Garland warbling "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" one last time and put the baby in her sweet little Christmas outfit for the last time (ever), while I thank God that He can't be boxed up and stashed away for the next eleven months.