Gratitude can transform common days into thanksgivings, turn routine jobs into joys, and change ordinary opportunities into blessings. William Arthur Ward
The lights are up. We had a couple of nice days following Thanksgiving, and while I wasn’t in the mood to decorate for Christmas, the weather around here does not wait for moods. I looked at the weather app on my phone and saw a line of unpleasant weather lined up for the next week and a half (and if I don’t like putting up decorations in good weather, I assure you that I absolutely abhor doing so when the weather turns “frightful”), so I gathered up our flock of outdoor delights, untangled them, and hung them where I’ve always hung them. I’m nothing if not unoriginal.
Anyway, the lights are up. It’s not a tough job, to be honest. I have lighting nets that go over the barberry bushes that line our front yard and driveway, and the Japanese maple that anchors the entrance to our drive. The wreath was carefully hung over the garage, with swags of lighted garland stretched out like angel’s wings. It’s not much, but it’s what we can plug into the outlet without blowing circuits or requiring the local power company to fire up their nuclear plants.
The lights are up. Or at least they were (to my satisfaction) when my life partner stepped out to inspect the fruits of my labor. “The nets are upside down,” she said.
I explained that the space between the barberry bushes is such that the cords that connect one net to another forced me to stretch them across like power lines between poles. The problem, she pointed out, is that each cord comes with an ugly sun-bright yellow caution tag. “If you hang the nets with the cord at the bottom, it will look less ugly,” she explained.
My Viking blood began to boil, but fortunately it was too cold outside to mumble anything other than, “Yes, I see what you mean” through my frozen lips. So I took the extra three minutes it required to flip the nets onto their proverbial heads (or, in this case, feet), and I am happy to report that everything does, indeed, look better.
The lights are up. There is a cranky side to my soul that objects to the hoopla and folderol surrounding the Christmas season. As a stickler for tradition, I note for the record here that what society calls the “Christmas Season” is (in my own Episcopal Church tradition) the season of Advent, but it would be easier to stop the moon or tides from rising than to convince the world around us that this time of year is about anything other than Santa, reindeer, elves, and ghosts of seasons past. So be it.
There is a cranky side to my soul, indeed, but if I ignore it, it goes back to sleep pretty quickly. Like an old watchdog, it hears a strange noise, takes a moment to sound an alarm, and as soon as the owner of the house looks out the window, the hound lays its head back in its furry paws, returning to dreams of chasing rabbits or squirrels, knowing there is nothing more to do until the Master calls.
The month of December is short, cold, dark, and miserable enough that I don’t need to add the weight of my own grumblings to the load others are under. The lights are up. They are an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. As cold and as dark as things may seem outwardly, there is a warmth and a light burning inwardly.
While Jesus does urge us to pray in secret and not wear our religion on our sleeves, in other places he encourages us to “let your light shine so that others may see the good you do, putting your spotlight on God in heaven” (Matthew 5:16, my paraphrase).
So the lights are up. They’re hung right-side up and (true story), the weather app has changed all the terrible, horrible, rainy-wet, no-good days that had been predicted to sunny days here in this, our valley. It’s a miracle and the lights are up. Amen!
Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)
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