<span style="font-family: Calibri;font-size: small">Prepare to hear a blasphemous, un-American confession:  I don’t care about Christmas anymore.  God knows I used to, and I have the ornaments, lights, and Christmas cookie recipes to prove it.</span>

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<span style="font-family: Calibri;font-size: small">So what happened to me?  Did someone I love die, and I’m still in grief?  Yeah, something died, alright.  The celebration in Christmas.  All the rah-rah, happy-happy, be of good cheer.  I’m not jaded because of  commercialism these days, though I hate it.  I <em>am</em> seriously pissed that stores are putting up Christmas things <em>two weeks before Halloween</em>.  What’s next?  Santa on the shelf before Labor Day?</span>

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Over the last few years, I’ve tried to be a “good” Christian, and focus on the “Christ” in Christmas.  See the baby Jesus in the manger as significant.  I mean, really – I wouldn’t be a Christian today if Jesus hadn’t come to earth, right?  So what the hell is wrong with me?  What is wrong <em>for</em> me?

<span style="font-family: Calibri"><span style="font-size: small">Do I have to have a reason except that Christmas depresses me now?   I’m not going to lie to you and make one up.  Didn’t it always piss you off when you were a child and you asked your parents why you had to do such-and-such and they said, “Because I said so”?</span></span>

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<span style="font-family: Calibri"><span style="font-size: small">Why don’t I care about Christmas anymore?  Because I don’t.  I’m not trying to be a kill-joy, but Christmas <em>is</em> a kill-Joy.  It kills me to pretend that everything is lovely, while Christmas only depresses me.  I know so many people who tell me they just LOVE Christmas and it’s their favorite time of year.  Do you know when that was true for me?  When I was a kid and when my kids were little.  If I had really looked closely when my children were pre-schoolers and in elementary school, I might have noticed that I cared about Christmas for them, not because it was important for me.</span></span>

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<span style="font-family: Calibri"><span style="font-size: small">So what do I do at this time of year?  Pretend.  Tell people what they expect to hear.  But here’s what <em>is</em> real, what <em>does</em> matter:  that my adult children get what they want, and I’m NOT talking about their list for Santa.  I can’t afford that any more.  So what do they want from me?  What do I really want for Christmas?  Read on.</span></span>
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<h4>Giving What I Need</h4>
I don’t care about Christmas anymore.

It seems so sad and empty,

something to do and be done with.

I refuse to just “buy something” for the people I love.

There is a special satisfaction in finding a gift

perfect for a precious someone,

and I would be lynched if I didn’t fill

my tall kids’ stockings with silly dollar store toys and kiddy candy

appropriate only for six-year-olds.

I really like that part,

but the carols, trees and seasonal scenes

have lost me, left me out to lunch.

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To all the people glowing with delight,

asking if my shopping is complete

then interrupting with their answer

before hearing mine,

I just smile and give the expected response:

“Yes.  Merry Christmas.”

What else is there to say that’s socially acceptable?

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I just buried my dog with stomach cancer,

which doesn’t help, but that’s not what’s wrong.

The lights at night are pretty but pointless,

poinsettias, packages,

pain my hurting heart can’t celebrate,

and I don’t even miss it,

but I don’t have to explain this to you.

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When you rode into Jerusalem

and the crowds welcomed you with joy,

I doubt that happiness filled your heart.

Grief and dread were primary

because you knew what was coming,

but I bet you smiled and waved anyway

because you loved them.

It was more important

to give them what they wanted

instead of what you did.

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Is that the perfect gift I can give this year

to the people I care about?

What they want from me isn’t my depression.

Help me give the gift you gave,

pocketing your needs to feed the hearts of others,

celebrating their joy.

So my candle isn’t lit;

I can still light up their faces

with traditions that matter to them.

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But I’m sick of faking it;

continuing will only make things worse.

I can’t do this by myself.

Grant me the gumption

to feel for real what they need

and act on it with faith

that you will meet my needs, too.

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