Welcome to the Funny Farm (4 page)

Now, if the love of your life has never given you a pair of knitted baboon feet, you probably don't know the true meaning of the phrase “Academy Award–winning performance.” I'll bet Meryl Streep couldn't have feigned a more convincing performance of ecstatic gratitude, although I think I could have gushed far more convincingly over just about anything else, including an apple or a wooden whistle.

In other words, I tried to appear grateful, but I don't think I did a very good job because Larry figured out right away that I wasn't too crazy about the gift. He's pretty astute about these things. Of course, it's possible that I tipped him off. I think it happened right after I opened the box, right about the moment I blurted, “Ahh . . . I hope you kept the receipt.”

Okay, so maybe I'm an ingrate. Apparently I not only keep my eyes peeled for The Perfect Gift when I'm shopping for my friends and family, but I also look for it when unwrapping presents addressed to me.

Maybe I'm looking in the wrong place.

The Bible tells me that “every good and perfect gift comes from above.”

Oh, sure, I'll be the first to admit that the Lord has sent a few things into my life that I'd love to return. There are times I take an initial look and blurt, “Ahh, God, I hope you kept the receipt . . .” But hindsight usually shows me that what he gave was exactly what I needed after all. There are even a few gifts that I suspect will require the kind of hindsight I can only get in heaven. Who knows? Those might turn out to be the most perfect gifts of all.

I'm learning to trust the Giver, even when I don't always understand the gifts.

Most of the time, however, the gifts he gives exceed my wildest hopes and dreams.

The fact is that God's gifts—unlike the purchases of harried Christmas shoppers, well-meaning husbands, and other mere mortals—are never the wrong size, color, or pattern.

It'll be interesting to see what gifts he has in store for me this coming year. Although I don't mind admitting that, if I have my druthers, baboon socks won't be anywhere on the list.

7

It's Beginning to Feel a Lot like Christmas

D
ECEMBER IS UPON US,
which means it's that festive time of year when the word “traditions” really means something, when it takes on entire new levels of significance, when merely saying the word conjures a broad spectrum of images and emotions.

Two examples that come immediately to mind are “stress” and “guilt.”

Not that stress and guilt can't be festive. They can be. In fact, we probably wouldn't recognize Christmas without them.

Indeed, if we had a completely stress-and-guilt-free Christmas, my guess is that somewhere mid-January we'd find ourselves asking: “Did we even celebrate Christmas last month? I remember a flawless dinner and beautifully wrapped presents and well-behaved relatives, but for some reason it just didn't FEEL like Christmas. Something was missing, but I can't seem to put my finger on it.”

Of course, it's possible that everything would feel more normal as soon as we got our credit card bill in the mail or discovered those holiday pounds reflected on our bathroom scales. At that point, we'd undoubtedly burst into a rousing rendition of “Jingle Bells” as a result of all that new-found Christmas spirit suddenly welling up inside of us.

The weird thing about stress and guilt is that, even though they tend to arrive hand in hand, they come from completely opposite sources. We feel stressed because we're doing too much, and guilty because we think we're somehow not doing enough. You'd think they would somehow cancel each other out, wouldn't you? (Of course, I used to think the same thing about drinking Diet Coke with pepperoni pizza, or adding fat-free ice cream to pecan pie. Oh well. Live and learn!)

Naturally, there are other Christmas traditions besides stress and guilt. Take baking, for example. One of my traditions is to make Christmas cookies from an old family recipe.

My other tradition is to lose the recipe.

To date, my mother has given me the recipe on at least nine different occasions, sometimes more than once for the same holiday.

Another favorite holiday tradition is sending cards. For three years running I kept the tradition of writing a Christmas newsletter, addressing dozens of envelopes to family and friends, and then letting the whole project sit on the den coffee table until March. Two years ago I finally gave up the dream of sending Christmas greetings to loved ones. Of course, I still experience guilt at not keeping in touch, but at least I can take the time I once spent addressing envelopes and use it for something more constructive. Like calling my mom for that cookie recipe.

In theory, I think traditions are a great idea. After all, there's nothing I'd love better than to lovingly, year after year, craft a Martha Stewart Christmas for my family, complete with beloved traditions that seem to glow with a rich patina bestowed by the passage of time.

In reality, however, traditions are a bit more complicated. They are complicated because they require a lot of planning (“Let me check my calendar”) . . . props (“Has anybody seen the box with the Christmas decorations?) . . . and cooperation from family members (“What do you mean you have a date with Jason on the night of our Annual Christmas Caroling Extravaganza!?!”).

Of course, I'm not saying we shouldn't strive to create meaningful traditions for loved ones.

I'm just saying we shouldn't beat ourselves up when our “Martha Stewart Christmas” turns out more akin to “Holiday Mayhem with Larry, Moe, and Curly.”

We shouldn't beat up our friends and family over it, either.

How do we know we're taking this tradition thing a little too seriously? I think a big clue for me is when I hear myself bark the following phrase to my kids: “I realize your legs are going numb, but no, you cannot leave the kitchen table. There are still twelve dozen cookies left to decorate, and we're going to sit here and have fun and create a warm memory by decorating every last one of them whether you like it or not!”

You know, there's a great story in the Bible that says a lot to me each December. It's found in the Book of Mark, where Jesus' disciples were criticized for “harvesting” on the Sabbath because they ate a few wheat grains while walking through a field. Jesus responded to the criticism by reminding everyone that “the Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath.”

Likewise, I try to remind myself that holiday traditions are here to serve me and my loved ones, not the other way around. I never want to compromise peace of mind or harmony in relationships for any given tradition.

Relationships, after all, are more important than ritual.

This is great news. Getting my priorities straight certainly relieves a lot of the pressure I tend to put on myself during the holidays. In fact, in honor of my new commitment to put relationships over ritual, I think I'll call someone I care about for no other reason than to say “Hi” and “I love you.” I could call one of my girlfriends . . . or either of my sisters . . . or—I know—my mom. I think I'll call my mother.

I needed to call her anyway. I'm going to a Christmas potluck this weekend, and I've been asked to bring the cookies.

8

Name That Tune

I
LOVE TO SING.
I couldn't sing my way out of a paper bag, but I still love to sing. And since I have yet to be held hostage in a paper sack for lack of a song, I'm confident that even though my warbling deficiency may be annoying, it is hardly life threatening.

Especially at Christmastime. Everybody sings at Christmas whether they can carry a tune or not. Christmas hymns, songs, and jingles fill the air. Even animals get in the act. Indeed, the Chipmunks'
Christmas Album
remains a holiday best-seller, and even the “Jingle Bells” barking dogs have gone on to develop their talent. I hear they're doing Handel's
Messiah
this year.

So I've been thinking about Christmas carols.

Actually, I've been thinking about some of the lyrics of Christmas carols.

I realize that thinking deeply about the lyrics of songs we love is not exactly necessary, and sometimes it isn't even advisable. After all, some very beloved songs have hit the top of the charts and enjoyed huge financial success despite the fact that they contain lyrics that, if you study their Latin roots, appear to have been written by blondes. (And if you think I'm blonde-bashing, think again—these savvy women are bizillionaires by now. They have not only amassed tons of songwriting revenue, but think of all the royalties from those blonde jokes they've been ghostwriting for years!)

Look at any genre of music and you can find double-take lyrics, phrases that demand a second listen despite the fact—or maybe because of the fact—that they don't make a whole lot of sense. Remember the song “Witch Doctor” by David Seville? Trust me when I say that more immortal lyrics beginning with the phrase, “Oo ee oo ah ah” have not been penned in our generation or any other.

But we're talking about Christmas carols here. The main problem with Christmas carols tends to be, not that they were written by savvy blondes, but that they were written, most of them anyway, by Joe Isuzu.

Certainly you remember Joe, the former spokesperson for Isuzu automobiles. He made Jim Carey's truth-impaired character in
Liar, Liar
look like Honest Abe in comparison. When it came to Joe, the reality check was in the mail. And even after it arrived, it bounced. Many people thought the clever ad campaign featuring this reality-challenged spokesman was a spoof. I'm not so sure. I have reason to believe that before he got a job peddling cars, Joe eked out a living by writing many of our Christmas carols.

How else could we end up with lyrics like, “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth”?

This is obviously a lie.

The truth is that children will NOT settle for their own teeth for Christmas. Neither are they satisfied with oranges in their stockings or an American Flyer wagon as their coveted single gift. No, today's children want the moon, creating holiday wish lists that require not only a table of contents but thumb tabs as well.

I also have to wonder about the phrase “All is calm, all is bright.” It may have applied the night Jesus was born, but Christmas at my house is anything but calm. Between baking cookies, hunting for white-elephant gifts, hosting the neighborhood cookie exchange, shopping, assembling the artificial Christmas tree (and wondering why there are four branches left over), sewing Christmas pageant costumes, and writing the family holiday newsletter, it's not unusual for me to find that the word “calm” has been deleted from my vocabulary. It has, in fact, been replaced with words and phrases like “Rolaids,” “nervous tic,” and “I NEED CHOCOLATE AND I NEED IT NOW.”

Now, “Laughing as we go, HA HA HA!” isn't bad. Maybe Joe had help with this one. Maybe from Jim Carey. Because laughter isn't a bad way to approach the holidays. Sometimes, when the season takes a particularly chaotic turn, it's best to throw up your hands and laugh about it. Did you burn the snowball cookies? Forget where you parked your car at the mall? Get your Christmas cards in the mail the day before Washington's birthday? Then take two belly laughs and call me in the morning. The truth is, laughter reduces stress, pumps up the immune system, diffuses squabbles, lifts the spirits, broadens the perspective, and feels great. Best yet, it has no calories and can't make you pregnant. Feeling stressed? Don't buckle. Chuckle instead!

There's another song that comes to mind, and I really hope Joe didn't write this one, because I want it to be true. The words are, “Let every heart prepare him room.”

Unfortunately, sometimes I think we put more effort into making room in our refrigerators for Christmas dinner leftovers than we spend preparing room in our hearts for Christ.

Maybe this year can be different. Since we've still got a couple weeks until Christmas, perhaps we can begin today to give Jesus a more prominent role in our celebrations. How? I know, for me, an attitude of gratitude does wonders. Am I shopping for loved ones? Baking cookies? Entertaining holiday guests? What if I thought of every task—every tradition, every labor of love—as a token of my gratitude? An act of thankful worship of the Christ whose birth we celebrate each year?