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 Christmas Lights

Christmas is such a unique time of year. As a kid it’s so intense, mostly about the gifts (let’s be real), but also, all the special things like decorating cookies and twinkling lights and watching favorite movies while snuggled up in red plaid pajama sets. Yet, as I entered my teens and young adult years, it lost some of its charm; I couldn’t quite get those old feelings back. The lights were not quite as bright and the wreath cookies not quite as sweet. The pressure to find the right gifts and fit in all the events started to feel like a chore. As a parent, I get to enjoy the wonder of it all again (but this time on the other side-the work side). The wonder isn’t going to put up its own lights or remember whose gift is in which identically wrapped box after the dog eats the tags off.

As a child of divorce, your lack of not being able to do it all and be everywhere is never felt as deeply as at Christmas; although in retrospect, it was good practice for marriage. The minute I told my Grandma I was engaged to my husband, she blurted out, “I get Christmas Eve” . . . it was July. We still talk about how smart that was. We were too distracted by wedding venues to realize we should probably add a disclaimer, but my husband congenially agreed. Guess where we go every Christmas Eve? (I’m taking notes.) No matter what your arrangement, you can never be in enough places or bring enough gifts or food. Because the thing with Christmas is, that it highlights what you are good at and what you are bad at. My mom can wrap a gift so that the wrapping is the gift, where I just gave a friend a gift with the price tag still on (it was on sale) so at least she knows I can find a good bargain.

While I’m beyond blessed with family and lavished in blessings, I am at the same time more keenly aware of the brokenness that many may feel during this season. The losses are felt in a more profound way this time of year. The strings of white lights reflect not only the awe and magic, but also the loss and heartache. The people that are missing, the fractured relationships, the pushed down depression or anger or bitterness that may surface in the cold air of December. Like Charles Dickens’ famous line “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” Christmas for many of us can be a tale of two Christmases The joy of eggnog by a fire with those we love and trying to smile while Aunt Claire asks you why you aren’t married, have children, or didn’t bring more dinner rolls or Uncle Clyde asks if you have been promoted, published your book or if you would like to hear about his eczema issues (just kidding he doesn’t ask).

Unlikely of Places

As the holidays approach, most likely you are being asked to contribute or attend an event, that although you will show up (with cookies) your heart isn’t right. Perhaps there are family members that are difficult (see eczema story), maybe you feel judged or unappreciated? Holiday gatherings can bring out old insecurities and emotions we thought long buried. We revert back to our childhood roles that are just not who we are anymore. Frustrations, jealousy and misunderstandings may float through our heads as we drive to parties and stay to dance around our conversations. The enemy wants us at our worst during these times. He wants us ineffective and distracted, and while it can be lovely to chat about the job and kids and how amazing the tree looks, maybe there is someone that needs to hear something deeper. Maybe a hot cocoa in a comfy corner by the fire can lead to healing words over a deep struggle. When our hearts are right, the Lord can use us, even in the most unlikely of places.

When we feel warm and fuzzy over Christmas, it’s easy to think everyone feels this same way. After all isn’t that what we see as the cards start to arrive, lining our windowsills—smiling faces looking back in holiday cheer. Isn’t everyone enjoying the parties and shopping and looking forward to the day of being reunited around a tree? What we don’t see in the cards are the sleepless nights over our jobs, anxiety over grades, the toll of finances and the health issues yet shared. We see the good, as it should be, but also not the whole truth. I’m trying not to be fooled into thinking everyone one else is problem-free this season.

I wrote an article years ago on what goes on behind a photoshoot; all the people at work to make that one picture look perfect. Fake hair, fake eyelashes, fake food and computer generated images make models and homes look flawless. I myself have modeled in these shoots and there is not only a small army of professionals styling each set, but also liberal airbrushing to catch any possible flaws. When I look at Christmas cards, I enjoy the adorable children and creative settings, but I try not to think that they have it all together; especially, as I look around my house, at tinsel waiting to get stuck in my vacuum and I still can’t find the O from my silver letters that spell NOEL. (My son keeps asking what NEL means!) I’m behind on shopping, decorating and baking (i.e. buying random things to bring to parties because I can’t remember what I signed up for). Quite obviously, I do not have a team of stylists working on my Christmas card setting (which I’m actually not sending for the third year in a row).

I’ve decided with the house lights off and the Christmas tree lights on, that it looks almost pretty—but those lights also cast shadows. I gathered with some of my best friends last week to celebrate, but one of us is missing (she went to heaven two years ago). I miss her so much and when we are all together, I feel like I’m always looking over my shoulder, wondering who is missing from the table. As we shared salted rosemary bread and warm cookies, we also shared our loss. While I gather with family and friends, I’m overwhelmed with my love for these people. The Lord has been healing my heart with hope of knowing this life isn’t all there is and I will see those who have gone ahead, especially, my sister (who has been in heaven far longer then she walked this earth). I have mostly known life without her, but I still feel her absence more keenly at these times of emphasized togetherness. I, also, long to sit again on my grandma’s bed and tell her all my problems or ride one more time with my grandpa on a sulky, training a young race horse.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord!

The first nativity wasn’t this polished

As I smile for pictures by the tree lights, know that I’m happy and blessed, that I love eating snowman-shaped cookies and watching you open my haphazardly wrapped gift. The Lord is filling my longings with promise and as I look at my nativity set, I know that He, the Christ Child, came to suffer & die for mankind. He is lit by the glow of my tree in this moment; however, He was not in a polished glass manger scene, but in a dirty, smelly stone cave. It was most likely not well-lit, or warm or comfortable, but yet He brought the gospel of peace (“He restoreth my soul”). He would start His life on the run from men that wanted to kill Him, yet would not be angry. He would be called out of Egypt to a humble life, strikingly void of any grandeur, yet He would not be bitter. He is a King, but came as a servant. He was born, so that He might die. He gave all, so that we might gain everything.

The tree lights pale in comparison to my Saviour’s light. He illuminates all my blessings and all my faults, all my efforts and all my failures. He promises to be the strength in my weakness, the grace in my failures, the joy in my soul and He uses everything for His purpose. He is no longer a helpless babe in a manger, but God come in the flesh. He has known hunger and betrayal and deep loss, He knew His purpose and never looked for the easy road, He did not seek an earthly treasure, but one that does not rust. This time of year as the twinkling lights dance in the darkness, I’m in awe that even the tiniest of lights can be seen. I can be a little light in someone’s struggle because His light shines though me and perhaps brightest through my pain. A string of lights during the day goes unnoticed; it is in the darkness that they really shine.

**update: The missing O from NOEL has been found and returned to its rightful place!

What do the tree lights illuminate for you this time of year?

How can you be a light in someone’s darkness?