This is Christmas?

 I sit in my same morning spot.  It looks different this morning.  I'm usually staring at a black square of window, trying to squeeze in some quiet time, before sleepy-eyed children shuffle in to ask about breakfast as the the school day begins.  But today, the sun is streaming in.  It's nearly nine, and they are all still tucked into bed.

You really can't beat this view...roses by the window, heavy, full blooms nodding in the breeze.  Tall pine trees, arms outstretched framing the view of our sleepy little village, a collection of brown-tiled roofs and green, weathered copper pipes.  It's picture book perfect.  The vineyards that roll down the hills toward the lake have been trimmed back for the season.   Dipping and curving in neat rows, they carry an air of order and refinement that permeates the Swiss countryside.  Where the vineyards end, still-green swaths of farmland are cleanly split down the middle by the thin highway that runs parallel to the lake.  From up here, the lake looks more like a river, a blue-gray ribbon stretching as far as the eye can see in either direction.  Across the lake, the lights of France still twinkle in the shadow of the mountains.  Layer upon layer of purple peaks criss cross each other in imperfect triangles.  Above the jagged ridges, sits Mont Blanc in stark, white contrast, as if God began to build a snowman and stopped halfway through.  

As my vision zooms back in, my attention is drawn to the pink rose bloom dancing just outside the window.  How is that even possible?  It's December 25 in Switzerland.  Shouldn't there be snow?  Holiday music is playing on my phone, but it certainly doesn't feel like Christmas.  I remember this feeling.  I felt it in Singapore, where we celebrated a few hot, sticky Christmases, tossing marshmallows at each other in the kitchen (our Singaporean snowball fight) and swimming in the pool in the afternoon.

It makes me think...What is Christmas?  Is it the decorations?  I hope not.  Some are still in storage in the States.  Some of the sweetest ones, handmade on paper or wood, have been destroyed by the mould that grows in our storage area here.  One of the saddest holiday moments I ever experienced happened this year when I went to wipe off a preschool picture ornament, and Parker's entire face was wiped away in one swipe of my thumb.  Even Jack, who generally doesn't concern himself with decor, commented on the sad lack of Christmas decorations this year.  So, I hope it's not just the decorations.

Is its the gifts?  If so, Christmas is cancelled.  There is no 2-day Amazon in Switzerland.  I began ordering gifts for the kids at the end of November.  Some have still not arrived.  Since shipping here from the States is prohibitively expensive, family members send money electronically, and I do my best to buy gifts, but it doesn't always work out.  Or the kids want something electronic (game credits, gift cards, etc.), so that doesn't leave much to open under the tree.  

Is it Santa?  Nope.  Since Caleb learned the truth about Santa, and the tooth fairy, and the leprechauns, and the Easter Bunny last year [a sad year, indeed], the Christmas magic was missing this year.  We couldn't even locate the Elf on the Shelf in our mess of mouldy decorations.  I filled the stockings last night before the kids even went to bed.  Jack, in desperate need for tradition and magic, baked cookies for Santa.  And Caleb ate them.  Just sad.

I read the news last night before bed - never a good idea.  Thanks to the war and destruction, Christmas is cancelled in Bethlehem.  Really?  Really, world?  

So, if the decorations and the gifts and the magic are gone...if the very place Christ entered the world is destroyed...why bother?

Because, thankfully, Christmas is bigger than all of that.  I think the early Christians were pretty brilliant the way they hijacked the pagan solstice celebrations.  They didn't let the fact that Jesus wasn't born December 25 stop them.  They let the natural gift of light wash over their weary souls, a predictable, annual promise of warmth and hope to remind us of the love of the One who made us.  Though my faith has shifted and morphed in many ways over my lifetime, I still believe.  I believe that there is purpose in this annual reminder of God's love.  

Even when everything looks bleak - war, poverty, hunger, disappointment, pain, fear, uncertainty - the light enters.  Every year, there is the darkest night; then the light comes.  It's more certain, more reliable than a Swiss clock.  

So today, I celebrate the light.  I will allow my eyes and heart to open to the gifts set right before me.  I will hold them close, breathe them in.  I will savour the smell of their hair, the sound of their heartbeats, the press of their soft cheeks.  Even the dog hair on my sweater.  I am covered in love and light today.  It is a Merry Christmas, indeed.

Wishing you all a light- and love-filled holiday!