CHRISTMAS EVE REFLECTIONS:
( Humiliated or Humbled?)
So many people have stories from childhood about the Christmas season. I know some of you do not celebrate Christmas, but even for those who do not view Christmas as God’s intervention for a dreary world, it still is generally experienced as a delightful interruption, where we all can celebrate love and peace and a break from the routine of life.
I personally use the word Christmas here because it is my faith, and I really love my memories of Christmas growing up on the farm…
.... except for this one…. 
I remember well the year my brother humiliated me out of believing there actually was a santa. The way he did it (as he was two years older and ever so much more knowledgeable), was to make fun of the fact that I believed in Santa. I retorted defensively and immediately, “I do not!!!” Man, did I give myself away with that!
The truth? I would have sworn I heard reindeer on our roof that night!! Ugh. How embarrassing. I was six or seven and we did live out on a farm with no TV and exposure to other cultures etc. But still. I wanted so badly to believe in a santa. (When I grew up … we taught our children that it was a delightful fairy tale) very early on.
Feeling humiliation by the way, is what most of us fear a lot. It even causes us that familiar “fight or flight” reaction that fear of harm or death creates. In the face of humiliation, we protect our fragile egos and generally become resistant or defensive (like I did!)
In contrast, I love this memory of Christmas Eve. . . .
Each year, to this day, we “kids” reminisce about our father reading aloud the Christmas story as he sat by the tree and we gathered around him. Our dad was one hard working man who for most of my growing-up years, owned a large farm. He was also usually low on sleep and I remember how tired he looked at that time. The fact that he usually fell asleep when he sat down was also a big clue, even for a child to notice!
But what makes this memory so lasting is that it wasn’t just that he did this each year (and traditions are nice), but that there was something about his sincerity when he half read, half told the Christmas story.
Dad often helped us see enduring truths that brought hope to a dreary world. His was a deeply authentic faith, and one we each carry within our hearts.
We did not get many presents and often not the ones we really, really wanted. We usually received those smaller items we put on the list because we knew we should.
But, as I look back I realize the real gift that he gave us each year (all year) was his personal faith. It became part of our legacy and although we may express it differently (or not) he breathed into our hearts.
But his love for God and for us came through in that boyish twinkle in his eye that we saw every Christmas Eve. Okay, maybe it was the pretty Christmas lights, but I think it was more of an inner light we saw.
I was humbled by him and by the story of God’s love every Christmas. Feeling humbled is the opposite of humiliated. Humbled, we stand in awe and respect of magnificence. We are open to exploration of greater heights and feel surges of inspiration and love to be more fully who we were created to be.
And what can genuinely humble us more than witnessing a birth? I remember learning about the mystery of birth while a farm girl watching cows giving birth and eggs hatching. Then one day I was in Ecuador, South America, helping at the birthing of a baby. But that is a story for another time! Talk about being humbled in the midst of love.
What are your favorite memories?
Let’s take this time to savor and share good memories like a delicious piece of chocolate or sipping a cup of tea or cappuccino etc. at the café of life.
I would love to hear your favorite tradition or memories too!