Have a very orange Christmas

Orange is not a color I usually think of at Christmas time. Yet, this year, I found my mind often wandering back to the brightly-hued citrus fruit. When I contemplate what this holiday season is supposed to mean and what is has become, I remember my grandpa sharing how, as a child, he was thrilled to get an orange for Christmas. It seemed to be the star of the show, as far as presents went.

If you grew up reading Laura Ingalls Wilder’s books, like I did as girl, you might remember her receiving an orange and being equally thankful as my grandpa, This round fruit seems to be the Talking Elmo of its day. Everyone wanted an orange. In the case of the 19th-century author and my grandpa, they lived in areas reminiscent of that famous Irving Berlin song, “A White Christmas.” December is snowy and cold and . . . well, white; beautiful in its sheer vastness, its very monotone. I think this is why the lights and tinsel shine so bright in the wintery parts of the world. And why the vibrant orange would make a child’s eyes light up on Christmas morning. It’s a piece of summer, sweet and sticky, in a cold season that is void of color. It’s a reminder and a promise wrapped in a rind.

I spent a little time researching the tradition of the orange at Yuletide. Several cultures use them and have stories behind the humble fruit. There are legends of them representing the gold coins that Santa would drop in stockings, hung on the hearth, where they would melt by the fire and become a ball of gold. The Victorians made pomanders by sticking cloves in oranges as gifts and they also decorated tree boughs and iced cakes with thinly dried slices. The tradition of putting oranges in stockings has been around for a long time. Here in the U.S., lingering depression and war brought rationing at an already scarce time of year, so a pop of color, tart and sweet would have felt like a taste of heaven.

I often find myself talking about the joy of getting an orange for Christmas in retrospect to the consumerism of today. Can you imagine a modern child being excited over an orange in their stocking? I still remember being upset over getting a sleeping bag instead of a doll one year. I have the snapshot to prove it; my disappointment written on my face. With trays of cookies and cups of hot cocoa, who wants a piece of fruit? Unless of course, it’s dipped in chocolate.

We can now buy bags of oranges, that we then forget about on top of our fridge and throw away weeks later. There are so many varieties of orange juice it has its own section in the store. Fruit, although lovely, has lost its wow factor in our time of plenty. So, to me the orange in snowy weather represents something I’m after, something I’m longing for. . . it’s no longer fruit. Or maybe it is.

An orange in a Winterland feels otherworldly; it clearly traveled from afar, like an exotic visitor. It makes me think of the real purpose of this annual celebration we call Christmas. As Christians, we are focused on the birth of our Saviour, who came like a pop of color into a dark world. He pierced the darkness in a way that ripples through time, backwards and forwards, offering hope to us earthlings. Announced by angels, spotlighted by a star, he arrived out of season, because the earth had been plunged in sin and mire for thousands of years and we couldn’t even imagine a way out. Christmas time falls close to the darkest, longest night of the year, so how fitting that we celebrate with candles and twinkling lights—it’s when we long for warmth and hope the most. Christ, the Babe, the Child, the Redeemer, came when we needed Him most, when it seemed all was lost, the darkest night of the soul.

Then music, then light, then hope; for unto us a Child is born.

“And she shall bring forth a son,

and thou shalt call his name Jesus:

for he shall save his people from their sins.” Matthew 1:21

Jesus, laid in the manger, was the perfect fruit of heaven coming down into a dark, dreary and wintery world. God, incarnate, came in the flesh, crossed the barrier between the realms of heaven and earth, of spirt and flesh and landed in a manger, of all places. There we may look upon Him and believe! He is The Gift! The “it” present of every season, the sweet in a world of sour, the living water in the desert of our emotions, the bread of our life. As a human baby and King of kings, he humbled himself to live among us. The salvation and hope He offers this cold world is a warmth to defrost even the hardest of hearts.

He was not what was expected. Like an orange out of season, he was and is both humble and almighty. A gift of summer in the winter of our lives. A gift of color in the blackness. Sweet salvation. Simple and yet deeply complex in only the way God can create. All it takes is a child-like faith, then excitement, hope and anticipation like on Christmas morning. Every move, every word, from stable to cross, from resurrection to ascension, performed out of love for His creation. This is our greatest gift.

Now, we take time each year to remember this gift. This miracle that is the baby who is God. The man (1 Tim 3:16) who radiates hope throughout generations, as we read the Bible and tell our children and our neighbors about the real reason we sing and gather and give during this season. So, I entreat you to slow down this year and ponder as Mary did, just who this baby was and what he meant for mankind. Bake the cookies, wrap the gifts, hug the friends and remember, it’s not about how much we do or where we go or what we get. It is about whom we carry inside of us—the Holy Spirit—growing us spiritually. That way we can produce fruit (even while trekking through a winter of the soul), a picture of God’s love and mercy, a reflection of light that lives in our hearts and minds.

In a season often wrought with stress and pressure, in a time when people can feel most alone, in a place of life’s let-downs and disappointments, we can present someone an orange in a season of snow.

What does an orange look like today? A kind word, a token of encouragement, a remembrance, a story of redemption. Like the tradition of gold coins melting into orange-like balls, we can offer people real worth in a time fraught with imitation gold. So, give your children lasting joy in a world of broken toys, give your friends hope in a time of trials, and give those around you something sweet that is everlasting.

Don’t let the true gift of Christmas get lost in the vastness, the frazzled backdrop of white noise that often takes over this time of year. Sit by the tree, flip through the Bible and read about the baby that came to offer life to a dying world and peel a sweet orange, because really that’s what we are all longing for . . .

“Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and bear a son,

and they shall call His name Immanuel,

which is translated, “God with us.” Matthew 1:23

Further reading:

Christmas Lights

The Christmas Dress

Floating through the Holidays

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Drafts on Floating through the Holidays

Winter came early here in Michigan (and perhaps the whole country). Quite suddenly, we had no idea where our ice scrapers were and snow pants were seemingly sold out overnight. And all this, before I even had a chance to assess if we had any matching gloves (by the way . . . the answer is no; I somehow have only seven right hands - if anyone can explain this to me, please do so). And just like that, the holidays are upon us. While I love the first wave of the season, from pumpkin everything and gingerbread lattes to twinkly lights and Christmas music; it’s all the ambiance with none of the stress. I can enjoy the decorations in my favorite coffee shops and fill my car with Carol of the Bells, until the second wave steamrolls in: then these twinkly lights start on full stroke mode, the music becomes too loud and too frantic and there’s so much stuff to buy and wrap and all the traveling . . . oh, my!!

This year I have decided to try and float through the holidays.

Sounds great, right? 

But how does one float?      

A basic staple of any swim class is learning to float. It doesn’t seem like something we would have to be taught. After all the human body is almost naturally buoyant. If we just relax and fill our lungs with air, we sit on the surface of the water with hardly any effort. Yet, as I sat on the sidelines of a class of beginners’ swim lessons, floating was anything but natural. It was downright terrifying.

My son did not take to swimming easily. He, like many kids, was afraid to go underwater. It took some tough love from a wonderful swim teacher to convince him to put his head underneath the surface. Ms. Liz was loving and patient, but no nonsense. She would listen to his fears and say she understood, but he would, in fact, be going underwater. I completely trusted her and I knew it was very important for him to learn to swim. I, too, understood his fears, but I knew this was an important lesson—vital to a kid that lives in a beach town. As I would wade through his fears and tears to get him where he needed to be to learn to swim, I wondered how God looks at me as I fight an important lesson He is trying to teach me. He understands I’m afraid of the unknown and what could go wrong, but He also knows I must learn to swim in this world.

Once my child went underwater a few times, lo and behold, he not only liked it, he loved it! In fact, a new problem arose as the class stood in line on the submerged ledge; instead of being afraid of putting his head underwater, he was always underwater! (Duly missing the instructions in his lesson.) While I gave him my “get it together eyes” from the sidelines, as the teacher had to ask, yet again, for him to keep his head above water; it secretly made me smile to see him enjoy the water so much. Not only do I want him to be safe, I want him to enjoy the freedom and delight of swimming. Just as we learn all the safety lessons from studying our Bibles, I imagine God smiles, seeing his children enjoy life, but like any loving parent, He wants us to do it safely. He designed us for relationships and he gifted us with talents and skills, he gave us passions and callings, but he knows we could easily drown in them. Unless we first learn to swim.

In the swim class, Ms. Liz would have the kids lay on their backs and practice floating on the surface of the water. She taught them that if they ever get in trouble to just flip over on their backs and float. (A skill we all need during this holiday season.) Well, my child could not do this, he would immediately panic, struggle and sink. The instructor would  say, “Do you trust me not to let you go under?” He would nod yes, but his heart wasn’t in it. Has the Lord asked you to trust Him as he untangles your hurts, moves you forward in something new or closes a chapter in your life? And while you are nodding yes, is your heart panicking? What is He asking of you in this season of celebrations and time with family? Are we drowning under doing it all? Doing it perfectly? Sinking while your arms are full of pumpkin seasoning and rustic sleigh bell gift adornments.  

Ms. Liz helped my son by letting him rest his head on her shoulder as he tried to float. That way he could feel something firm underneath his head and she would whisper to him, “I got you.” I see myself in this, God lets me rest my head on his shoulder (my crazy spinning brain that just needs to rest) while I’m learning to float. When I’m tired and worn out by this world, the demands of life, the fear of moving forward in faith — I can’t even float, I just start to sink. We start to think our gifts aren’t thoughtful enough, our party clothes aren’t sparkly enough and that the cookies came out a bit too chewy (well I don’t think that because everyone knows I will break my own oven to get out of baking). I can rest all my inadequacies on the shoulders of the Lord. I can lay my worries and fears on Him.

Last year my sister came home for Christmas and she texted us and said, I will not be bringing any gifts, the gift is my presence! And you know what? I loved it! I do enjoy giving and getting gifts, but the ultimate gift I can give to you and you can give to me is to be in each other’s lives. So that necklace or scarf I got you is just bonus. I can float though the pressure of . . . is it the right color or the right thing? Should I have done more? This is not the real gift. What you are really unwrapping is a ”thank you” for being there when I call too late or need too much. This one day and this one gift will never be worthy of all the times you made me laugh or got me out of a jam. So, I’m just going to float this pair of gloves over your way and if it’s still in the bag I bought it in, well . . . that’s okay, too.          

The interesting thing about floating is that there is a lot of trust involved. Our bodies will lay on the surface of the water, but only if we relax and let go of all the panic and fear weighing us down. I wrote in my last post (Drafts on Ebb Tide) about how the enemy tries to drown us with lies about how unforgivable we are, how we will never overcome our pain or how we can’t handle our present situation. Sure we can struggle through the water with these burdens, but eventually when we run out of our human energy, we will need rest. The enemy knows we can never float with these things weighing on us. His lies are meant to make us sink. And we can go under in a million ways: drinking too much, escaping into entertainment too often, finding our worth in unstable things like status and money and looks. I personally can feel depression and despair start to pull me away from the people in my life that would uplift me; everything looks dark and I just want to stay under a blanket to cope. And the whole point of the holidays is lost in the enemies lies. And the point? A thankful heart around the thanksgiving table and star-lit eyes over the babe found in the manger. Peace in our souls and good will towards men is the point.

Floating is rest. The rest we need. God designed our bodies to need breaks. When we sleep we heal and recharge. He built night into day, sabbath into the week and our bodies float so we don’t have to always be swimming. When my day swarms me; emails, laundry, hurting friends to pray for, research for my writing and 3rd grade math (which in my case means watching instructional youtube videos and still not understanding) and then I have to come up with something for dinner on top of all that?!

Swim lessons; life lessons

I need time in my day to just float and on those days that I can’t even float because I feel too crazy, the Lord lets me lay my head on His shoulder and whisper, “I’ve got you.” I open my Bible and the living Word soothes me and I ask the Holy Spirit to help me and He buoys my soul (even though nothing in my physical world has actually changed). So I heat up soup and toast bread and laugh at 3rd grade math because seriously, what else is there to do? And I float.

We float because our lungs are full of air. My air is God. He fills me. He holds me until I can swim again. When things are really bad, when I’m afraid and lost He lets me lay my head on something firm. His Word is firm. His character is solid. His truth is enough to carry all my weights until I let Him cut them loose. Then when exhaustion hits, I know what to do. I flip over on my back and float. A prayer in the car. A Bible verse check on my phone. Truth is in my head and faith in my heart, where it can’t be lost or misplaced. It’s really not that hard as it turns out, but it feels scary. Like my son in swim class, it takes a leap of faith, that feeling as you start to sink, but then somehow you don’t. The Holy Spirit brings you back up to the surface where you can lay there and just breathe.

So this year I’m going to try and float through the holidays. The gifts will never be enough, I will be overly tired from traveling and a little jittery from all the coffee. I most likely will not be at my best. So if you want to have a little cry in the spare bedroom or borrow my undereye concealer come find me. I’m going to try and not panic and just rest in God.

My advice for this busy, crazy festive season is to start practicing floating.             

In what areas of your life are you drowning and instead of flipping over on your back to float—you are panicking? Is it finances? Health? Relationships? 

How do you drown in the holidays? What would it look like if you tried floating through? Simple unwrapped gifts, less commitments, buy the cookies? (I mean, I have to because my oven is broke)  

Drafts on Weariness: A Christmas Story

A Weary World

This year I felt like I just couldn’t. I wanted to blame Pinterest and Instagram for my discontent. I looked at my forever messy house and scowled at the lingering Lego pieces, like unwanted house guests, who make themselves just a little too comfortable. Then there’s the scraps of paper that can’t seem to make it to the trash and scatters of dull eraserless pencils that conveniently skedaddle when it is time to write out spelling words. And I just couldn’t. The box of Christmas decorations sat at my feet, like a puppy waiting to be let out, bursting at the seams with tinsel and cotton ball sheep. And I thought where will I even put you? The level of dust I needed to clean off my sill to set up my nativity scene was too much for the half-hearted paper towel swipe it would receive. These decorations won’t even look good, they will just add to the chaos. Maybe this year, I just won’t! 

Begrudgingly, I dug out the new stockings a dear friend had given me, Scottish plaid with rusty bells. I thought how great they would look in someone else’s house. I hung them on the window cranks and over the back of a rocking chair, the tags still on and thought  . . . this is probably where they will stay. Why do I even bother, these will never get hung properly; we have not once managed to hang stockings on our fireplace. Even people in coal towns, surviving the Great Depression, could manage to hang up stockings; let alone, compete with one of the endlessly beautiful bloggers I follow or my many talented friends and family. Maybe I just won’t decorate this year.

I pondered this idea of not decorating a few days later. Christmas has become about commercialism anyway, I reasoned, and most likely baby Jesus wasn't even born in December, so perhaps I just shouldn’t bother. I’ll take a stand against everything Christmas has become—too many gifts, too much sugar and way too much stress. Who needs it?

Immediately, a small voice came in my head: You need it and so do the people around you. Christmas might not be on the right date, but the time of year is fitting. As December in Michigan is the darkest month on the calendar, with the shortest days, it makes perfect sense that we would illuminate our houses with light. Exactly what God did when he sent his son, Jesus, into a dark world. He could have thought, this world is a mess, who will even notice or who will even care. I’ll send him later when the place is picked up a bit; I’ll wait till he can show up in a palace instead of a stable. When the town isn’t so busy and there is actually room in the inn. But no, He sent Him when the world needed it most, into a dirty, smelly stable and said I'll put Him right here where He is needed.

Following the camel tracks of those wise fellows of old, I followed the North Star, not looking for something that is worthy of social media, not decorations for a photo shoot, but something warm and inviting, however simple or messy. The point of Christmas isn’t so people can be in awe of my house (especially since this is not my gifting) but that I offer light on a dark night. Hope in a messy world. It’s a moment to pause and focus on something else, right when we need it most, in the darkest of days. We love our trees because they are full of light and beauty, memories and hope; besides, they look best in the dark (plus than you can’t see clutter on the coffee table).      

We are desperate for light and hope and what better than a twinkling tree with handmade ornaments? They don’t even have to match. A big hit for me is the upside-down paper bowl jellyfish (move over reindeer) who is down to two paper streamer tentacles, making most wonder just what he is exactly. These little lights on a string and cherished decorations are lifted from their dusty boxes, only slightly worse for the wear and put out to warm my heart just when I need them. And when I see your decorations, either well-appointed or slightly off-skewed, I’m warmed on a cold night.

One of my favorite Christmas presents came after my baby was born in December and nursing was a nightmare and I hadn’t showered and nothing was okay. We were heading to our family’s house for Christmas Day anyway, so I thought, why bother to decorate? I don’t even have the energy to put on real clothes. It won’t matter. But as it turned out, it did matter. On those dark days I did need some light and cheer. I told my friend how hard new life with baby was and how I couldn't put up a tree or manage to eat more than toast. The next day my friends showed up with a tree and decorations and forced their way into my living room. And as I sat on the couch while they decorated it, I knew this had been missing. I did need this in ways I hadn’t realized. I’m reminded of their gift each year when we get out that tree. I still get misty-eyed when I talk about it; this tree was not something you would post on Instagram, it was just an ordinary Christmas tree, but the story is worth a 1000 likes.

The holiday season is often a painful one. I watch people wipe away tears during carols because they miss someone or feel a loneliness more keenly when the focus is so laser-pointed on family and being together. I lost a best friend last year, a week before Christmas, and my family had a tragic loss this year, and it makes you think: Why celebrate? Why decorate? Life is so hard. But that is why exactly—because life is hard and full of dark days—we put up lights to show that there is hope. He, Emmanuel, was born in a barn, but it was right under a bright star.

~A weary world rejoices~

Post Script: My husband hung up our stockings this year – on the chimney – and they look great! Such a small thing made such an impact on me. Sure there are piles of books, glue sticks and puzzle pieces still cluttering the hearth, but the stockings are hung!

Write about light in a weary world, here are some ideas:  

Why do you take the time to do Christmas—decorate cookies, hang lights, mail cards or any other Christmas traditions.

Journal about a gift or an act of kindness that meant something to you around the holidays?

Write about what you struggle with during (at least in Michigan) the quite literally dark days of this month? How can you shine light into this area?

 Share your work here