Not Done Hoping

What stockings there are in this house are hung, and most all of the Christmas decorations are out and up for this most unusual of Christmases – one in which we are anticipating the birth of a grandson.

In the kitchen alone, the candles and stuffed carolers next to the miniature street lamp sing in inaudible celebration that it’s Christmas.  Five trees of some size or shape adorn the china hutch and island.  Candles and ribbons grace the table, and the Santa hat makes a nice addition to the ceramic pig that keeps watch over all things kitchen.  A stuffed snowman (that lights up, of course) perches on a chair in the corner.  And a healthy collection of Santa-and-the-Missus salt and pepper shakers give new meaning to that cliché of all Christmas clichés – ‘Tis the season.

But what most catches my eye is a little string of letters hanging down from the upper cabinet, next to the stuffed snowman.  Those four letters spell the word, H-O-P-E.

Isn’t that the renewable resource that is Christmas – the celebration of the birth of the Hope of the Ages?  That however sorry or desperate the world looks (have you read the news lately?), there still is hope?

We live in an age where linkin’ stinkin’ thinkin’ together has become an art form, and the cynics seem to be winning.  But this Christmas can be a reminder to me and to you that we’re not done hoping.

I’m not done hoping that the world can stop long enough to remember that children, with their imagination, dreams, and needs are priceless and vital – not just to tomorrow, but to life today.

I’m not done hoping that we can see in the dancing dreams and anticipation of our children something beyond a dollar sign or an opportunity to exploit.

I’m not done hoping that the twinkling lights and the nighttime spangling of stars they represent serve as a reminder that one person, being their own gifted and best self in their location, can light galaxies far away or lives across town.

I’m not done hoping that the simplicity and fragrance of a simple form of wick and wax can remind us of the quiet, but compelling influence we can be, one heart at a time.

I’m not done hoping that somewhere, somehow, people will actually figure out why Santa Claus is so incredibly jolly while we’re acting like spoiled brats.

I’m not done hoping that somewhere, somehow, people will see an image of old Saint Nick kneeling at a manger and get the connection between the fabrication and the truth.

I’m not done hoping that we can, like children, ask boldly for the desires of our hearts, knowing that those desires far exceed some toy or trinket.

I’m not done hoping that this Christmas we can rediscover – deeply, truly – what love is.

I’m not done hoping that we will somehow learn to cherish the simplicity and beauty of two hearts beating as one – as family, as friends, as lovers, as the Body of Christ – without the need for things or status or pleasure to define the relationship.

I’m not done hoping that we will learn to discern those things that are temporary and those that are eternal – and choose the ones that last forever.

I’m not done hoping that in this season of giving, people will reach even further to make it a season of forgiving… and forgetting.

I’m not done hoping that cold December nights may get just a little warmer because someone offered themselves, not just their gifts.

I’m not done hoping that this Christmas “Joy to the world, the Lord has come” takes on a completely different meaning.

Let earth receive her King!

Tagged as: Christmas, Giving, Hope, Love