By Karenlyn Barone
I started shopping in early November, on a girlfriends' annual weekend jaunt to Pennsylvania. We shopped till I dropped on the hotel bed, begging for someone to massage my aching feet. But, triumphantly, a new record was set: We had shopped for more than 28 hours in less than two days, all in the name of getting a jump on the season.
By the time we got home, I had already forgotten what I bought. As I sorted through receipts -- that totaled way more than I realized I had spent -- I was in a holiday daze. Nevertheless, I happily wrapped my purchases, secured them with festive ribbon and commended myself on a job well done. A job. Is that what Christmas is all about?
Then, two weeks ago, I sat down to write a list of things I still needed to do in preparation for this most wonderful of holiday seasons. There were gifts I still needed to buy -- my neighbor, my best friend, co-workers, etc. -- the house needed to be decorated, the Christmas cards had to be signed and mailed, a tree bought and decorated and cookies baked. I needed to plan a menu for the Christmas meal, not to mention making time to shop for it. By last week, I could spell stress in capital letters with a neon exclamation point at the end.
The meaning of Christmas? Who had time for meaning? I was burning both ends of the advent candle.
To top off my Christmas chaos, my son was singing in a special presentation with the choir at our church. I simply had to make time to attend. I rushed into church, found a seat and let out an audible sigh. For one hour, at least, I could sit still.
When the service started, we lit candles and the lights were turned down low. There were beautiful readings from the same Bible I swore I would find time to read one day. The choir, made up of grandparents, mothers, fathers, aunts, cousins and young adults, answered each reading with a magnificent musical selection. And suddenly, there it was. Every word, every note was in praise of the true meaning of Christmas, which had tried hard to elude me. In the darkness of that church, I finally saw the light.
For me, the spirit of this season has infused the time I spent with the VFW, serving its guests a holiday dinner; time spent at the Knights of Columbus Holiday Party for special children; helping send 1,000 Christmas trees sent to service men overseas; and that night in church. At those events, I saw the light. It's not on my tree, or in the wreath on my door. It's inside me. It's inside every one of us.
You don't need me to tell you that the season isn't about the gifts we buy or the decorations we hang. It's not about how many lights we string, but rather how brightly our own light shines. This is the holiest of seasons for all of us, almost regardless of religious beliefs. This is the season of the birth of a savior, not the time to be on the brink of death from exhaustion. So, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and remember to let your light shine.
