All I Want For Christmas

As a little kid all I wanted for Christmas was…Christmas!

Dad’s disdain toward the commercialism, and the dogmatic idea that it was connected to pagan influences, prompted him to ban the celebration of Christmas in our home. No excited anticipation for Christmas Eve, no countdown to Christmas morning. No Christmas tree. No letters to Santa Claus. I often wished Santa was real so I could avoid the embarrassment at school of having to answer “Nothing,” when asked “What did you get for Christmas?” No, there were no presents to open.

Well, okay, one set of grandparents always gave each of us five dollars and the other grandma gave us something, like a pair of darned socks. And I mean, darned in the sewing sense.

But besides that, our Christian home didn’t embrace any of the traditions observed by most of the people we knew, not even for the fun of it. Other than Mom’s little Nativity set up in a corner and a big dinner with relatives, the season was bereft of Advent Wreaths or church Christmas services.

But as a seventeen-year old, I discovered that the giving of gifts could not be prevented. With money saved from babysitting jobs, I got something for each of my family still living at home. Only Dad did not accept the one I got for him.

Confession time here. I admit that a bit of rebellion against my dad’s dogmatism figured into this act of good will. But the joy I felt at giving gifts gave me a glimpse into God’s delight at giving the greatest gift, His Son Jesus Christ. And a teeny tiny twinge of what refusal to accept that gift might mean to the Father of lights, the giver of every good and perfect gift. (James 1:7)

I do understand Dad’s initial stance that Christ’s birth date is not recorded anywhere and was likely not in wintertime at all and that Christmas got tied in with less than Biblical beliefs. But in later years Dad relaxed about those issues, figuring they weren’t deal-breakers, and he opened up to the season’s celebratory options. Joy to the world!  

My husband and I enjoyed establishing our own seasonal traditions, which included providing gifts for our kids and ways for them to give to each other. Their anticipation made it fun for us. Finances were of a sort that we had to keep it pretty simple, but even if we’d had more freedom there, I think low-key would still have prevailed.  

Another confession here. Even though we celebrated Christmas, I sort of did what Dad did. I got huffy when someone said “Happy Holidays” or used “Merry Xmas” as a greeting. Why did I take offense? How did those things take away the joy in my heart of knowing my sins are forgiven and that Jesus Christ reigns? By protesting belligerently, did I bring any peace and good will into the world? Later I realized holiday comes from holy day and learned the X in Xmas is the Greek letter used for Christ. Like in the ichthys, that fish symbol many use to identify themselves as Christians.

Whether my Christmas time comes with simple imagination or with elaborate trimming, what freedom there is in realizing no offense was intended.

All I want for Christmas nowadays is to be joyous, in discovering what brings delight to others and to God’s heart. 

Mad Hatter

I’ll bet some of you are wondering if there is any significance to me wearing a hat in my blog photo. Why, yes. There IS a story behind that. Would you like me to tell you? Okay, I will.

Hats intrigue me although for a long time I hated ‘em. Growing up I heard a lot of dogmatic teaching on 1 Corinthians 11, which talks about hats, you know.

Did you know that a hat can be a harmful weapon? Sad but true. My own hat was used as a weapon against me one time.

The church I was raised in taught that 1 Corinthians insists women must wear hats—head coverings, whenever they are assembled to worship the Lord in a gathering of believers. We were also admonished that women must never cut their hair. One hot summer Sunday morning, as was the current fashion in 1971, I arranged my long hair into an upsweep with a curly wiglet on top. And then discovered to my frustration none of my usual hats would fit. So I grabbed a bright yellow triangular shaped scarf with fluttery fabric petals all over it, covered my hair entirely with it and tied it in a neat bow at the back. Now I’d heard a rumor that our senior elder’s wife disapproved of this type of head covering but since I thought it inappropriate to believe rumors and she had never personally told me this, I merely discounted the rumor and went off to church. I mean, my hair was completely covered, which was the whole idea, right?

           

No sooner had I sat down but I noticed our senior elder’s wife leaning over to him and whispering something to him while glaring angrily at me. He immediately jumped up, strode over to stand in front of me and in a stage whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, said, “How dare you come to the Lord’s table with such a hat on! You go home right now and change it.”

           

As you can imagine I was humiliated and mortified. And rather indignant, too! Instead of going home, I went to a nearby park and cried for two hours. My feelings were crushed.

           

I did get an apology of sorts a few days later as in “IF I offended you, sister, I’m sorry” but it was the beginning of the end for me at that church. No disclosure was ever given as to why that particular head covering was so offensive, and let me tell you, the hats worn by many of the women were by no means unostentatious.

A couple years later I left that sect and didn’t wear hats for a long time, except for my wedding. I finally realized a few years ago that hats appeal to me; hats are cute and fun, so why not wear them because my joyfulness is expressed when I wear one. And no worries about offending someone if I don’t wear one or wear the ‘wrong’ one. I’m pretty sure my praises to God are acceptable whether I’m wearing a hat or not.

           

It was really rather silly, don’t you think? Good thing there’s forgiveness for silly because I know I’ve been silly a time or two about stuff that doesn’t matter. And I’ve worked at forgiving the mad hatter as well.

And now I collect hats. Don’t have a huge collection—hats tend to take up space, you know, when they’re not covering up the space between my two ears, so I haven’t gone overboard amassing them. Only have about two dozen that I store in hat boxes. Occasionally I give one an outing. Here are a couple more photos of me joyfully doing so. 

This cute little cocktail hat was given to my daughter by an aunt. My daughter passed it on to me for safekeeping.

Although I never go out for cocktails, I feel rather flirty with the feather and veil in place.