Hibernation

Recently, Kame entered a state of semi-hibernation. Three or four times a week, on the advice of our veterinarian, I dig him out from under his mulch and set him in his water pan so that he stays hydrated. He drinks deep, then immediately burrows back into the mulch. Though his odd habits and starvation diet worry me, his weight has remained steady and he seems as vigorous as ever.

There are times I wish I were able to hibernate. When things get difficult, when I'm not sure of Ken's heart, when my kids are fighting or Arek is having one of his legendary meltdowns, I want to pull inside my shell and disappear out of this world entirely. Sometimes I do "hibernate". I withdraw into playing inane games on Facebook, surfing the web, or searching out writing jobs that cost very little brain power, whatever it takes to numb the frustration and pain.

The holidays are a prime "hibernation" time. If the cold weather and icy conditions (dangerous for someone with a bum leg like mine) weren't enough to drive me underground, the pressure that comes with the holiday delivers a knock-out punch to my emotional equilibrium. I drive myself crazy at times, shopping with growing desperation until I feel everyone on my holiday list will be surprised and thrilled with the offerings I've gathered.

Why do I feel this awful, gnawing desire to please more strongly at this time than any other? Why is it so desperately important to get the "right" gift for my kids and husband? I could say it's because I love them and want them to be happy. That is a perfectly true and valid reason, but I feel as if there must be something more behind the almost-childish anxiety that drives me to surf the web obsessively, making lists and agonizing over a budget that always seems too small, particularly when it comes time to shop for Ken.

Ken's expectations are higher than my own at Christmas time. I grew up in a family where Christmas was a big deal, but the pile under the tree was often small. I learned young that while Santa brings some very cool gifts, kids like me don't get big-ticket items for Christmas. I didn't expect them then, and I don't now.
Ken grew up in a very different home. While his parents weren't millionaires, nor were they overly extravagant, he usually got what he wanted.

While it would be easy to accuse him of materialism, I don't think the conflict lies in the price of the gifts we exchange. Ken has never once tried to make me feel guilty for not spending "enough" on him. I believe that the pressure I feel comes from within, and its roots are older than the fifteen Christmases I've shared with Ken.

During Christmases past, my father would disappear into his room during the family celebration, refusing to participate. One year in particular stands out with vivid clarity. My siblings, all grown with children of their own, had gathered their resources to put together a gift box for Mom. It was an enormous box.

Mom exclaimed over the lovely gifts as she lifted each out of the box, impressed with their ingenuity and generosity. Finally, she took the final two items from that huge box. Tucked into a lonely corner were a bottle of cologne and a tin of Dad's favorite pipe tobacco, the only gifts for my father.

For the first time, I understood why Dad spent his holiday holed up in his room. He was hiding, avoiding the hurt and humiliation that came with being unwanted. He knew my mother's children wanted to please her. He never felt wanted... never felt loved.

Christmas is a time when Love came into this broken, hurting world. To feel loved... is it really such a terrible thing to expect that at this most joyous celebration we should feel loved by those who should know us best? Is it selfish to want to be included, to hope to receive some coveted trinket, to expect that something in that pile under the tree has your name on it, to know you've been invited to the party?

I think that wanting to feel loved is not a bad thing. Gifts are one way we convey affection, certainly, but the best way to feel love is to remember what real Love is, to invite the Babe back into His own party. For me, that means trusting Jesus to make sure my Dad knows he's loved as he celebrates Christmas in that shining City with the Lord Himself. It means letting go of the past and concentrating on creating happier memories for my children and their father.

For the sake of my marriage, of my family, it's time for me to come out of hibernation. It's time to acknowledge the hurts that have gone before, and to remember that this world is still broken, even today, and will remain so until the Babe returns in all His completed glory. It's time to look the brokenness in the eye and dare it to bite me, because this is Christmas Present and I am not going to waste a single moment of the joy of Here and Now regretting what is Done and Past.

It's time to celebrate Christmas.
This one's for you, Dad.
~*~*~

"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."
(Luke 2:11-14)