New Year

Once again, I greeted the new year with a wicked cold. This is because I always get run down over Christmas and by the time New Year's rolls around, I have no immune function left and may as well just lie down with a sign that says "Viruses: Free Lodging!" Fortunately, the kids went back to school before (literally, 4 hours before) the bug hit and I was able to sniffle, and shiver, and moan all by myself. And if you've ever been sick while still having a small child to take care of, you know that this is a huge plus.

I'm better today, but the headache, the sniffles and the lack of energy are still hanging out around the edges, so I'm taking it easy. What I really should have done, though, is take it easier during the build-up to Christmas and avoid this whole shebang in the first place.

This year, I felt more than ever that something's gotta give. The pace of Christmas, the chaos, the constant messages from print and visual media to BUY BUY BUY! made me feel like my head was going to explode. There was such a lack of balance, such a skewed feeling to the whole month, I never felt like I could really catch my breath before the next wave threatened to pull me under. I felt a mild revulsion all month, particularly toward all the advertising aimed at getting me to spend more. I mean really, those Lexus commercials were downright repulsive -- the whole "What a poor schmuck you are if your loved ones don't get you a luxury automobile" vibe made my stomach hurt.

We always get the Sunday paper for the coupons, but the December Sundays were nothing but ads screaming "BEST DEALS EVER!" Every. Dang. Week. And then the badgering from family - "What do you want for Christmas? What do you want? What do you want, want WANT?"

You know what I want?

Nothing.

Really? Nothing? Well then, what do you need? Do you have a need? Is there anything you NEED?"

Nope.

Honestly, our income is such that we are a) never short of food, and b) able to meet our medical expenses, and c) able to keep sheets on the beds and shoes on our feet and gas in the car. We're good, thanks.

Can I tell you that I am tired of supplying ideas for people so they can get me the obligatory gifts? Does that make me a Scrooge? It's not that I don't appreciate it, but it no longer feels like anyone is trying to really suss out my personality and select something that will either delight me or make my life easier in ways heretofore unsuspected. It feels like we buy each other gifts because we have to. Because the starter pistol went off on Black Friday and we're all scrambling forward in a race not of our own making, that we call "the holidays" but which are really just a thinly disguised mass hysteria sponsored by retailers desperate to save their bottom lines (or maybe just their bottoms).

Gifts that are truly meaningful aren't purchased to fulfill some sort of quota. You know what I mean -- you get three gifts for Bill, you have to buy three for Jen. Or you spend $50 on Anna, you have to spend the same on Tyler. We all do this. It's the fair thing to do, after all. But don't you then find yourself buying more for someone because you overspent on someone else? Don't you find yourself buying gifts for the sake of buying gifts, not because the people you're giving them to either need or even particularly want them?

You know what I'm talking about. It's the same reason Christmas cards have devolved into a 4X8 picture of your kids slipped into an envelope and sent out with an exhausted gasp on December 23rd. We send them because we feel like we have to, not because we're trying to keep in contact with people we care about.

I don't want to do things at Christmas anymore because I feel like I have to do them. I no longer want to sacrifice the things I do want to do to complete the things I "have" to do (like wrapping presents -- can I get an amen?).

I want to give at Christmas -- really give -- in a way that impacts people who don't have my resources. We have done some of this in the past -- wells and floors and desks for Haiti -- but we can do more. We should do more. We have to do more.

The finish line for this crazy orgy of spending is a manger. A manger with a poor baby, born to an unwed mother in a dirty stable, visited by poor shepherds who stank of sheep. A baby who would grow up to hang out with the lowest elements of society and like it. A baby who fed people, and healed people, and forgave people.

All I'm saying is this: next year, I'm starting at the finish line.