Who is Afraid of Christmas?

Wishing you an inclusive Christmas season.

You can wish me a Merry Christmas, and I won’t be offended.

Every year at this time, we hear the complaints from all sides about the secularization of the season when Christians traditionally celebrate the birth of their Saviour. There are those who complain that saying “Merry Christmas” excludes those are not Christian, something our pluralistic, multicultural society rejects. So public areas like city parks and schools cannot put up “Christmas” displays or anything about the Christian celebration in particular.

Image Courtesy: www.vykort.com

Some Christian groups and individuals then complain that this takes the religious meaning out of the season. This usually gets conflated with the complaint about the commercialization of the season.

Personally, I like to celebrate all of it.

Many people have pointed out how many cultures and religions use lights at this, the time of year when the nights are longest: Christians, Jews, neo-Pagans, Wiccans, the list goes on.

And it’s useless to whine about the commercial, secular celebrations. I can’t help but complain about the reruns of lame Christmas-themed movies and bad, really, really bad Christmas — or winter-themed songs on the radio. How many musicians have hacked through a version of Jingle Bells and Sleigh Ride? How much are we expected to endure?

Image Courtesy: acelebrationofwomen.org

But my whining hasn’t had an impact. So we might as well enjoy what we can. It’s going to happen whether we like it or not.

Let’s look at it this way: we all like to celebrate. What difference does it make why? We live in a multicultural, plural world. Rather than argue with each other over what to call the celebration and how to celebrate it, let’s celebrate everything.

So, put up your Christmas decorations. I have no problem with seeing a Nativity scene beside a Yule tree and a Festivus pole. Wish me a Happy Hanukah. If it’s the right time of year, say Happy Eid.

I’ll take it, and same back to you.

*

Happy Yule

Happy Sadeh

Happy Kwanzaa

Merry Christmas

Happy Hanukkah

Happy Saturnalia

Happy Diwali (a little late)

Happy Eid (whenever that happens)

Have a happy season, whatever it is, and a very good new year.

Scott Bury

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Scott Bury is a journalist, editor, and writer living in Ottawa, Canada. His articles have been published in newspapers and magazines in Canada, the US, UK and Australia, including Macworld, the Ottawa Citizen, the Financial Post, Marketing, Canadian Printer, Applied Arts, PEM, Workplace, Advanced Manufacturing and others.

Born in Winnipeg, Manitoba, he grew up in Thunder Bay, Ontario. He holds a BA from Carleton University's School of Journalism. He has two sons, an orange cat and a loving wife who puts up with a lot.

He is a recipient of Maclean Hunter's Top 6 Award and a member of a team that won a Neal Award for business reporting.

The Written Word published his first novel, The Bones of the Earth, in 2011. His first published fiction was a short story, Sam, the Strawb Part, the proceeds of which are donated to an autism charity. 

In 2013, the Written Word published his second novel, One Shade of Red, a spoof of the inexplicable bestseller that is mostly made of emails. 

His latest book is Army of Worn Soles, a memoir in novel format that tells the true story of the author's father in law, drafted into the Red Army in 1941. He is now working on a sequel.

Someone Else’s Miracle

The apartment was small and tired, but at least Jenna had managed to keep a roof over their heads.  But now, two days before Christmas, she knew providing presents for her ten-year-old son Nathan was going to be impossible.  She glanced around the room, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.  How had it come to this?  First, the loss of her husband, then the loss of her job, piles of medical bills, and the final blow: foreclosure.  Jenna shook her head.  She never realized how quickly life’s roller coaster could plummet out of control.  She collapsed at the little kitchen table, and fingered a scrap of paper.  It was Nathan’s Christmas list.  His desires were so simple:  a kite, some games, and a baseball glove.  She dropped her head down on her arms and tried to cry quietly, so Nathan wouldn’t hear.

Suddenly his arms were around her.  “Don’t cry Mama,” he said.  “It’s okay.  I understand.  I’m all grown up now, and I don’t need all that Christmas stuff.”  He took his wish list out of her hand, tore it up and threw it away. 

Jenna pulled him onto her lap.

Nathan wiped the tears off her face.  “Mama, we can still have eggnog and ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, right?”

Jenna nodded, hugging him close.  It was a ritual handed down in their family, the reading of the traditional poem accompanied by gingerbread and what her husband had dubbed “The Nighty-night Nog”.

 “Of course, Nathan!  We’ll always be able to have that.”  She buried her face in his hair, but abruptly jerked her head up.  What was that noise?  She slid Nathan off her lap and motioned for him to stay put.  Jenna crept toward the front window and peeked through the blinds, but saw nothing amiss. She unlocked the front door, eased it open a crack and peered out.  Everything looked normal.  She started to close the door but something caught on the bottom.

It was a small, yellowed envelope.  She picked it up and flipped it over.  It was completely blank.  Was it really intended for her?  After all, they had just moved in.  They hadn’t met many neighbors yet, except for newly widowed Anna Smith, a young woman whose circumstances were even worse than their own.  She had a son Nathan’s age and a new baby.  Jenna closed the door and lifted the flap on the envelope.  She pulled out a Christmas card with a picture of a starry night on the front.  As Jenna opened the card, money fell out!

Her hands shaking, Jenna scooped up the bills and counted them.   One, two, three, four!   Two hundred dollars!  It was a true Christmas miracle!  Where had it come from?  Who put it there?  Why?  Still trembling, she read the message inside:   Someday, when you can, be someone else’s miracle.

Jenna threw open the door and ran outside, hoping to catch her benefactor, but she was greeted by nothing but swirling snow.  Shivering and choking back sobs, she ran back inside and laid the money on the table.  Now Nathan would have a Christmas!  She could buy gifts to put under the tree, and some to put in his stocking.    Excitedly she said to him:  “Look!  It’s a miracle!  A real one!”

Nathan gazed, wide-eyed, at the four bills.  He picked up the card. “Be someone else’s miracle…” he spoke the words slowly, under his breath.

“Yes!  Nathan, someday we’ll return the favor.  I promise you that!”

Nathan continued to stare at the card.  “What about now?” he whispered.

“What do you mean?”

 “Mrs. Smith,” he said simply.  “She needs a miracle too.”

Jenna’s eyes welled with tears.  Nathan was right.  One hundred dollars was more than enough for the two of them.  She was ashamed she hadn’t thought of it herself.

 She replaced two bills in the card, slipped it back in the envelope and taped the flap down.  She handed it to Nathan.  “Shall we sneak over there and slide it under her door?”

He grinned, bouncing up and down.  “Yes!”

After they returned, laughing harder than they had in a very long time, Nathan sat down to write out a new Christmas list.  Jenna sat beside him.  She picked up a pencil and wrote a personal ending to the poem she would read on Christmas Eve – and for many Christmas Eves to come:

“…and laying his finger aside of his nose,

With these final words, up the chimney he rose:

‘Be someone else’s miracle,

And never let them know….’”

EPIC Award Finalist Violet Rightmire (Debra Webb Rogers) is the author of two novels:  Dancing in Time, a time-travel romance, and A Windfall Christmas, an inspiration romance.    Visit her website: http://debrawebbrogers.com/

Christmas like it Used to Be

Every year when Christmas looms on the horizon, I start longing for home- the land of my childhood and Christmas memories. In Germany, we celebrate on Christmas Eve or Heiligabend as it is called in German. Leading up to it is Advent, starting four Sundays before Christmas, marked by lighting a candle each week on an advent wreath. This is usually kept on the table in the family room where, in the old days, the family gathered and sang Christmas carols.

On 1 December, the tradition is to give children an advent calendar with little doors numbered 1-24, each containing a piece of chocolate.  It makes counting the days and the wait till Christmas easier impatient for  little souls. If you like crafts you can make your own. I used to tie 24 little parcels on a ribbon or garland, filled with mini something’s like candy, tiny toys, or crayons.

Everybody loves St. Nicholas who, on Dec 6, rewards children that have been good during the year by placing little surprises in their boots. Every child puts her pair outside the door that night. Of course they need polishing first. Naughty children only receive a fir twig, a little symbolic punishment. This tradition survives from pre-politically correct days, but it is always mitigated by some goodies.

We exchange our gifts on Christmas Eve. Until then all the presents are well hidden somewhere, not always easy under prying eyes. The 24^th is a busy day marked by secret preparations, with the parents sneaking in and out of the living room where the tree is decorated behind closed doors. The tree has to be a real one, often a noble fir.

My parents had an understanding that Papa would take me out in the car pretending to do a last minute errand while Mama got everything ready including a special meal.

After dark, with all the family washed and dressed up waiting around, a mysterious little bell was heard. That was the sign that Father Christmas had graced us with a visit. The door of the living room would open revealing a tree with real candles and the presents laid out underneath. Children’s eyes would glaze over at this stage; carol singing was to follow before anybody was allowed to open presents. Kids would play till late, but also allow their parents to sleep in the morning.

When we moved abroad we kept up this tradition although it meant hard work. We were facing a tidal wave of early presents and artificial trees with electrical fairy lights all around us. For the neighbors’ kids it was hard to comprehend why Santa Claus would make an exception for Germans and come early.

I can still smell the aromas of fresh Christmas cookies and the combined fragrance of fir trees and candles. For me there is no fascination in electric lights. Naturally, you have to be vigilant and watch the tree at all times; and yes, occasionally someone would have a fire. For extra safety, some people have a bucket of water at the ready. It’s best to blow out the candles when you leave the room.

Stollen, marzipan and advent calendars are available here. But in shorts and T-shirts and with the kids having flown the nest it’s not the same. Maybe with the arrival of the next generation and the patter of little feet, I’ll regain my enthusiasm.

Siggy Buckley