Finding the Christmas Spirit

With all the reveling, rushing and wrapping that seem to be an inherent part of most households at Christmas, it's hard to believe a state of relaxation can be achieved. I happen to know it is possible to relax, and fitting in time for it has been a part of my Christmas Tradition since I was a little girl.

I was ten years old the year I discovered the path to my Christmas Spirit. I had no idea it would become a part of my holiday traditions, as surely as tree trimming, gift-wrapping, and braving crowded malls.

Like many children, I was excited about Christmas coming, and there were some nights when I just couldn't sleep. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning on one such sleepless night, when I stole from my bed, and tiptoed through the darkened house to the living room. Once there, just seeing the tree looming in the corner filled me with incredible excitement. Knowing just where the plug in was located, I bent down and turned the tree lights on. Immediately hundreds of miniature lights began to twinkle off and on, and to my child's eyes, the room was magically transformed into a wonderland.

I hurried to the couch, sat right in the center of it, pulled my knees up to my chin, and wrapped my arms round my legs. I rest my chin on my knees and felt so much joy that I started to cry. The tree was absolutely beautiful. All the familiar decorations were there reminding me of more memories than I realized I had. I remembered the year just before my little sister was born, when we got the colored stage coaches that slipped over the lights and glowed in bright colors. The year before that, we got the funny little Santa heads. There was the Life Saver snowman a neighbor made for me when I was four years old, and over there were the little bead ornaments my sisters and I had made that very year.

Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I love to sing. I sing when I do dishes, when I do laundry, when I'm walking out to the car. I'm always singing. That doesn't mean I'm great at it, only that I love it. Sitting there that night, I was filled with such joy, such reverence, that I just had to sing. So as not to wake the whole house, I sang in a whisper, beginning with "Silent Night." After that, I moved through a number of such spiritually based carols, then sang some of the children's classics I knew, like "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and "Santa Claus is Coming to Town." As sleepiness began to overtake me, I sang "O Come All Ye Faithful" as my big finish. I turned off the lights, sneaked back to my bed, and slept soundlessly the rest of the night.

I didn't have any more trouble sleeping after that because I knew I could tiptoe out and watch the tree any time I liked. It turned out, I liked to do indulge a lot. At least once or twice a week, from the first week of December when the tree went up, until January 1st when the tree came down, I reveled in my singular pleasure.

Now, twenty some years later, I still make a point of taking such moments for myself. Mind you, I've altered a few things over the years. I no longer need them to fill sleepless hours. Instead, those quiet moments are times when I can recharge my energies. After a long day of shopping, baking, making gifts, long lines at the post office, and a host of other holiday related stress-inducers, I need those nights of solitude.

After my son goes to bed, I make a hot chocolate (sometimes adding a little Bailey's--for extra flavor of course), turn the stereo on and slip in a CD of Christmas music. Anything with a light jazz undertone, or songs from the Nutcracker ballet are more my style now than Rudolph and the gang.

I release all worries and pressures the moment I sit down in the middle of the couch and draw my knees up to my chin. I don't think about lists of things to do tomorrow, what I didn't get done today, how I feel about this dilemma or that one; for at least a half hour to an hour, I am completely in the moment. It changes my perspective of the entire holiday when I find I've been letting the extraneous issues get to me. Christmas is about joy, peace, love, and that is exactly what I find in front of my Christmas tree in an otherwise darkened world. I take that with me into the world, and it shows. I'm kinder, more quick to laugh and smile, there to lend a hand, and the great thing is, it rubs off on people. They smile more. Harried cashiers slow down, and return the sentiment when you wish them a 'Merry Christmas,' or 'Happy Holidays.'

A few years ago, during one such recharging session, my son came tiptoeing down the stairs, rubbing his tired eyes.

"I can't sleep, Mom," he whispered. "What are you doing up? You couldn't sleep either?"

"Oh I can sleep," I said, "Right now though, I'm just feeling the Christmas Spirit."

Cuddling him next to me, we sat watching the tree together, and sang along with the carol playing low in the background. That moment led to a new tradition for us both. The day the tree goes up, we wait until just before his bedtime, then sit together in the middle of the couch, our knees drawn up, and we sing "Silent Night." I firmly believe it is the perfect start to the most perfect time of year.

Last year, I was awakened in the night by the sound of someone moving around. I hurried to my son's room to make sure he was all right, but he wasn't there. I stole quietly to the living room, staying in the shadows when I saw the lights on the tree begin to twinkle. I watched my son bound to the couch, sit right in the center, and draw his knees up to his chin. At first all was quiet, and then, he began to sing. With a happy smile on my face, I tiptoed back to bed.