Just Believe

Best Christmas ever.

And Christmas is not my thing. 

I’m more of a Thanksgiving guy. I’m not up for the bells and whistles, the tinsels and holly. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a sentimental person. I just don’t connect all the mushy-gushy-goodness to things. I prefer to feel those ways about people. 

This year ended my lifelong gripe concerning Christmas. 

What is there to gripe about, you ask?

I never appreciated what we emphasize at the end of December. Why put so much effort into a belief in magic when all I want to foster in my home is a belief in God? Where do these two factors (magic + religion) collide? I never did find that point of intersection. And, as a result, I never saw much point in Christmas. It is in practice, if anything, counterproductive to most of Jesus’s teachings.

American 21st century culture is very bizarre. 

We are dying to believe. 

Belief is the trademark of the popular Ted Lasso character, right? And while I love that show (it’s very rare and powerful when a comedy makes me cry) there is no clarity about what exactly Ted Lasso believes in. Optimism is a characteristic, not a tenet of spiritual or religious ideology. You can call optimism a worldview, I guess. But only seeing the good in everything is a denial of all that is not good. The world includes plenty that is not good. And so optimism — when not grounded in reasons to be optimistic — is a form of denial. It’s no wonder why Lasso, like so many of us, suffers from crippling anxiety.

But this is Christmas in America. It is the Ted Lasso ethos. 

It doesn’t matter what you believe in, so long as you believe. Believe, damnit, or else! 

Or else, what? 

Or else you’ll be a miserable non-entity.

So what do I believe in?

Santa Clause.

But there is no Santa Clause.

Don’t tell the kids that.

Don’t tell them the truth?

Just tell them he’s an embodiment of the Christmas spirit.

So the Christmas spirit exists.

Yes.

And so does Holy spirit, right?

I wouldn’t go that far.

What’s the difference between the Christmas spirit and the Holy spirit?

The Christmas spirit is all inclusive, the Holy spirit excludes those who don’t believe.

Your only demand is that I believe.

Right. In the Christmas spirit.

Which is?

You know, Santa down the chimney stuff — buying gifts, drinking hot cocoa and stringing Christmas lights.

What exactly about hot cocoa am I supposed to believe in?

Nothing in particular, what matters is that you believe.

No, but what exactly am I believing in?

You’re believing in the Christmas spirit.

Which is?

Belief itself. 

So I should just believe that belief exists.

Pretty much.

Now I don’t mean to be a Grinch about things, but this is the imaginary dialogue I have had with the world at the end of December each year of my life. And I’ve never gotten anywhere with it.

Just believing because belief is important — popularized as being good for goodness’ sake — is sort of like being in an airplane with a blown engine, but really clinging to a really state of the art flotation device.

These sort of musings are not popular in our home.

I have to subdue these thoughts for the greater good of holiday merriment. And I have to act as if the plane we are on each December — the one with the blown engine — is a pleasure cruise. 

But this year was different.

I was different.

I tried something radical. 

I let Santa Clause win.

I refused to resent the lies about the jolly old elf. I stopped analyzing the irony of the pagan premise in Christmas Chronicles 2. I came full circle on this issue. I let Santa win me over. Here’s why. 

The pandemic, and the resulting pressure cooker of domesticity it tossed us in, has produced some good things, the way a clam uses deep sea pressure to turn an irritant into a pearl. My priorities in life have drastically shifted. The orbit of what really matters has closed in upon our home. I don’t really care about anything except for my family. 

I’m not on social media anymore (I took the last shift recently to have this blog post automatically share with my accounts to avoid my monthly sign on). I don’t read the news (as a local journalist who pays attention to the integrity of journalism, I can no longer stomach listening or reading anything in national syndication). My kids are taking up all my time and attention. In return, I receive their love. And this simple equation has made me the happiest I have ever been.

So, this year, I decided to let Santa win. I’m not saying Santa won. There is a difference. Instead of focusing on what the world is doing on December 25th, I chose to focus on my wife and kids. 

I was deliberate in this focus. 

“Want to go to the park and shoot hoops?” asked my nine year old, holding the basketball he got for Christmas.

“Yes.”

“Daddy offees?” asked my two year old in front of her new toy coffee maker. 

“Yes.”

“Want to watch me do a back band on my new mat?” That’s my six year old.

“Yes.”

And when the dreaded hour arrived and my wife asked, “Want to watch Christmas Chronicles with the kids?” you can guess what my answer was. 

I felt good all day. I watched my children open their gifts. They expressed gratitude and thanks for each present. I then watched them play all day, displaying patience and empathy. 

What did all the wasted wrapping paper and disposable toys have to do with God? Nothing. What did driving around town at night to view the light displays teach them about Jesus? Nothing.

What did it mean to put my ego and intellect aside for one day and give all my attention and focus to my wife and children? 

Everything.

I’ve embraced neutral moments in parenting. When a child is in a tantrum, you don’t correct her behavior. When a child is upset at someone, you don’t point out that he started it. When siblings are having a dumb argument, you don’t point out how dumb their argument is. 

When we are in the thick of things, emotionally, we are not equipped for such lessons. As parents, we can return to those moments later, after the tantrum has passed and the arguments ceased. In the still of the dinner-table hour, you might ask: “Do you remember when I had to restrain you earlier?” or “Do you remember when you called your sister a stupid?” or whatever. 

Christmas just isn’t the time to get into the Sermon on the Mount. It’s the time for kids to get the toys they’ve asked for. And, more importantly, it’s time to make a concerted effort to pay attention to them. 

And if that can stand in as my version of belief in the Christmas spirit, then from now on, on Christmas Day, you will find me the hi-ho-jolliest old elf this side of the nuthouse.