Each gift was enthusiastically unwrapped as carefully as any giddy eight-year-old girl could manage on a magical Christmas morning. It was 1978 and the first year I was old enough to ask for one special gift — an electronic “Merlin” toy. With four siblings and a very limited family budget, I was rather foolish to hope for anything so grand, and as each new treasure was uncovered, I became somewhat despondent and disillusioned to not find my heart’s desire. Even though I wore a pasted-on-smile, I was crushed.
We were at the end of the chaos . . . and then . . . held back for just the right moment, my mother handed me one last gift.
With the coveted present in hand, I immediately knew what it was. I opened it, confirmed that I had been given the greatest gift my youthful mind could imagine, and I was sick.
This was a new feeling as a young, innocent child. Why did I feel sick? I was so ashamed. I recognized that I had been sad and mopey because I thought I didn’t get my way. I had just come face to face with my own self-centeredness over a stupid toy — and it was on a day that should be about the birth of a tiny Babe in Bethlehem.
I wonder if my mother had any idea how I felt that day? Did she see through my happy act and into the selfish feelings that had been in my heart? Was she disappointed in me for the way I had behaved?
Another Tender Tennessee Christmas
Fast forward to a Tennessee Christmas with my own little girl. At only four or five years of age she was an avid reader, and among her favorite books was The Holy Bible. Having observed during her short life her sincere appreciation for any meaningful gift, we purchased a copy of the Bible with her name engraved on it.
Because we were visiting her grandparents’ home for Christmas that year, our daughter was surrounded with a stack of gifts. No doubt she was a little overwhelmed by everyone watching her . . . but when she opened the gift from us, she barely nodded an acknowledgment, and reached for the next present.
We. Were. Devastated.
I know. I know. How could we possibly expect a small child to show greater appreciation for such a gift while competing with pretty dresses, colorful wrapping paper, and noisemakers?
Now try to understand. We didn’t need her to love our offering best. That’s not what it was about.
The questions swirling in our heads were, “How have we channeled our child’s attention to the gifts rather than the Christ Child? How did we take Christ out of Christmas?”
In that moment, perhaps I knew how my mom must have felt during my own derailing in 1978.
Trial and Error
That day spawned a deep conversation with my husband that set us on a new course.
Over the next decade we tried many approaches to change the focus of our Christmases. One attempt was to have only 12 small gifts (including the ones from friends and extended family), and to open them in the 12 Days of Christmas style . . . one each day. But the gift giving seemed to go on forever. Other years we simply had three gifts per child - one that was educational, one practical, and one spiritual. Other years we opened presents on Christmas Eve morning and saved only a spiritual gift for Christmas Day. Those years were better than before . . . but ultimately we were only adjusting our gift giving.
Changing our Focus
Over the years our family has celebrated Passover, using a Christian Haggadah that my husband compiled. I have loved the tremendous spiritual response this tradition generates in our children and grandchildren — even when our family was very young. So one year I decided to try something new. What if we patterned our Christmas season around the same kind of feelings we enjoy at Passover? Rather than limiting gifts and how they were received, we determined to invite the Savior into our celebration.
I wrote a reader’s theater of sorts called, “The Twelve Voices of Christmas.” For the last twelve days before Christmas, our family could gather and read about various voices that surround the Christmas story — for instance — the voice of prophecy, doubt, rejoicing, humility, faith, and adoration.
The year we began a new tradition of “Voices,” I was blessed in another unexpected way. I had a dear friend who had commiserated with me over the years about our Christmas conundrum. Out of nowhere she called to ask if I would be around if she dropped by the last day of November, and I was delighted. Her visit brought two boxes of beautiful glass bulb ornaments. Each one boasted a different depiction of the life of Jesus Christ: His birth: His baptism; the Sermon on the Mount; the Resurrection; the Crucifixion; teaching in the temple as a child, and more.
I think I just sat and cried. For so many years the Christmas tree had become a representation (to me) of worldliness. I even hid all the presents in my bedroom closet until Christmas Eve to minimize the materialism in our home during the holiday season.
This was the first year I was actually excited for December. The lights on my Christmas tree would now spotlight each ornament to invite us to think of our Savior. My evenings were filled with quiet time on the couch, admiring each ornament’s message, and pondering its significance in my life.
Additionally, my sister made me a ceramic Nativity with a removable baby Jesus. Each day of our Twelve Voices reading invited one of our kids to check the Nativity for the Christ child. We hid the ceramic infant until Christmas morning when we read through the “Voice of Adoration.” When our youngest child checked the manger and announced, “He has come!”, our front room erupted in song, rejoicing with “Joy to the World!”
Finally I felt that Christ had come.
Seeking Christ
So what changed?
I had hoped the answers to our Christmas dilemma would come effortlessly for our little family, yet that is not what happened. And I am so grateful.
Through years of searching for a solution . . . we learned that the answer we sought was simple. It was the Savior. For whatever reason, it took us years to learn that. But if it had simply been handed to us, we never would have seen the contrast and developed such confidence to recognize what was actually missing.
What about you? Do you have some traditions that leave you feeling empty inside?
What traditions do you already have that fill you? What new traditions would speak to your heart to invite the Savior to celebrate with you?
Perhaps it simply boils down to this: We need to seek Christ to truly find Him.