A Slice of Sky

A sheaf of wind. The Waterhorse Suite. Children’s voices playing. Quiet.

I live for such days!!

We’re done with the pre-Christmas flurry of carolling, gatherings, performances and gifts. Is Christmas ever complete without these? I suppose so. Several Christmases back, all we could manage were home-made gifts for each other and a Christmas tree the size of an upturned shoe-box. And snippets of carols from here and there.
It was a very quiet Christmas at home then.

This year was another thing altogether. It’s interesting how the same tradition, celebrated differently at different times, can be as profoundly meaningful. This year, we’ve been carolling -twice- and gone for two parties, attended a ballet performance (in which Dd8 danced) , drank endless rounds of non-alcoholic beverages at two mini-school reunions and picnicked at a park with a handful of little kids and their moms. We’ve not had much time to reflect on the meaning of Christmas, I’m afraid, or rather, I’ve not spent the Advent season guiding my kids in daily slotted meditative thoughts of why we celebrate Christmas.
Should I feel guilty? I do, a little. However, I wouldn’t have done it differently though. So have I become shallow and callous in my treatment of Christmas?

I’d like to think that the frenzied rounds of meeting various people who have affected my life at various stages, have been good for my family. It’s as if to say, ” Look, here are my friends and people I’ve met along the way. Sure, we’ve disagreed and made up, left for faraway shores and reunited, bumped into each other here and there. Here they are. Isn’t it wonderful how diverse God has made us. What do you think?” Laughter. Belch, belch, sing, dance- “Hark the Herald angels sing”.

Now we’re getting ready to go home to see the folks. Dad-in-law all alone in his house with his orchard of cili-padi, curry leaves and lime plants. Grandaunts all alone in their once-was-homes with their tv sets and blue-red plastic stringed lazy-chairs. Mom and dad growing old with brother who’s not little any more. All that is Christmas.

We treat the remembering of God’s Word made flesh callously when we ascribe it the religious paegentry of self-righteous pious works be it grand shows of good deeds, mega-productions to “save souls” and the closetting of ourselves from those closest to us. If we forget those whose love we have received, whose lives moved us to try to be better people, then, we have forgotten how He gave up the crowd for the individual- Peter’s sick mother, the woman with the alabaster jar, the lady by the well, the children impatient to sit on his lap. We have forgotten how quietly He came.

And so, we are going home. Blessed Christmas everyone.

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