By Staff
Christmas is coming. I can already hear some of your moans. You're thinking. "So much to do, so little time." Christmas for adults is a strange mix of joyful anticipation and dread. It's not because we don't enjoy gift-giving, parties and all the delicious food. It's because our lives are already so full, it makes us tired just thinking about it.
For most of us, things were different when we were children. Christmas was a magical season filled with anticipation that was almost unbearable.
I remember going to Stibb's dime store with my mother and sister. Even though it was a small place, they had a little bit of something for everyone. When we opened the door a bell would ring and the musty smell of old wood greeted us. The creaky floors announced our every move.
Near the back of the store there was a dark, steep staircase that led to an attic-like room. When we climbed the steps we held on tightly to the railing. It was cold and quiet up there and during the Christmas season, they had large tables filled with toys.
A sense of wonder came over me in that upstairs room. It was as if I had been transported to a toy shop somewhere in the North Pole. I'm not sure why, but we whispered while we carefully touched the beautiful dolls or the old-fashioned train sets and our mother would secretly watch to see which item really captured our attention.
We always left the room without a toy in hand, only the anticipation of what we might find under the tree on Christmas morning. If we were lucky, mom might buy us some of the peanuts that were in a lighted case next to the cash register. I would hold the warm bag in my hand and feel like the luckiest little girl in town.
I don't know how or when it happens, but somewhere along the line we lose our child-like sense of wonder. Wouldn't it be great to recapture some of it, not only at Christmastime, but every day?
I may not be able to revisit some of the magical places of my childhood, like the toy attic at Stibb's dime store, but all I have to do is close my eyes and the memories are so vivid I can almost touch them.
Yes, that childlike heart is still there, but I just have to dig a little harder to find it.
Sometimes I need to practice the art of living in the moment the way a child does. So this year I'm not going to worry if all my Christmas cards don't get done. I won't bake 400 different kinds of cookies, or try to create the perfectly decorated house.
Instead, I'll play in the snow with my grandchildren and spend more time with friends who make me laugh. And when the city puts out their beautiful nativity scene I won't just admire it as I drive by. I'll park my car, get out and take a closer look at the baby in the manger.
I'll be a child once more, filled with wonder that God wrapped himself in humanity and came to earth to demonstrate His love for a little girl named Jeanne.