Love in My Pocket

Christmas is here. And that is a definite. It starts too early these days, if you ask me: tinsel and chubby Santas pushing out skeletons and witches in late October. My favorite holiday, Thanksgiving, no longer even exists in the world of marketing. Maybe that is why I find myself so grateful that Christmas is finally here. The excitement is too much for these kids. They are literally spinning in circles in the middle of the kitchen, painting ornaments and walls and each other, cutting out ninja-bread men cookies, decking the halls both inside and out.

Yesterday I found the baby Jesus in my coat pocket. We have a lot of manger scenes, and you never know where these characters will show up. I won’t mention where I found the Wise Man!

Their spirit is infectious. Both the children AND the manger scene characters. Can’t beat the love and the laughter in this house and the blatant, bald excitement. And I like the idea of Jesus in my pocket. He probably doesn’t appreciate the receipts and lint and random change, but when I reach in, it reminds me of my own re-birth.

I was always confused about Christmas when I was younger. I just couldn’t get a handle on Jesus being re-born and re-born year after year. (Now that I have given birth to three children, I realize that one birth is quite enough!) But recently I think I am beginning to understand. I think of this world, the dear friends who have lost jobs this year, the sad stories of friends losing loved ones. I think of the births of babies in our school family, of new relationships I have formed. I wonder what the baby in the manger long ago would think. He gets it already. It is all about the love.

I have had so much trouble missing my dad this season. I get in the car with the Christmas songs and the lights and the tears start to pour. What I wouldn’t give for him to be here sitting in his corner chair in the dark, with only the tree and his cigarette butt lighting the room. I cried at Maura’s Christmas concert the other night. Something about the innocence and the harmonies made me miss him even more. I cry in the cheese aisle at the grocery while staring at the roka blue. My eleventh Christmas without him. But somehow he is here.

I feel him in my own excitement over shopping for the kids. He always did Christmas BIG. Legend has it that he wrestled some hapless woman years ago for the perfect Cabbage Patch doll. As a mom now, I know how he felt. Always wanted the best for us, to see the magic in our eyes on Christmas. It is a great feeling to give.

I feel him in my own re-birth. He was at the first one too, a snowy night that is getting farther and farther away, and still here now as I change my life. I am building my resume as a fledgling essay writer, and pounding the pavement preparing for a marathon. He would be amazed at these developments. I know his love and pride in the twinkling lights and Christmas songs he loved so well.

I always tell my students to participate in their own lives. There is no time to stagnate, no reason to simply let things happen around you without jumping in. And this is what I mean. Look for wisdom. Feel grateful. Follow your star. Love with abandon. Grow and change and love some more. Make miracles happen. Count your blessings. Count them again. And keep the baby Jesus in your pocket.