Amber

Thanks have been given. The turkey is nothing but an emaciated carcass, literally, skin and bones. All that’s left of the dressing are those little egg bits that eventually turn to Goodrich worthy rubber.

I’ve dealt with Black Friday, from my couch I might add. Anyone that knows me, already knows that I can not be forced to encounter that many human people at one time. I can’t afford a felony conviction just for a cheap-ish foreign TV. 

Bells are already jingling. Everybody is humming fa la las and Christmas/Winter songs are already playing on the radio. Except that Kelly Clarkson and John Legend one; no one’s playing that PC ridiculousness. That stupid, 40-year-old Hershey kiss bell ringing commercial has already been playing for at least two weeks. 

Here I am, old Ebenezer, emotionally unready for all the impending nonsense. Bah, I say. Bah humbug! 

A simple trip to the old Wally World will be panic attack inducing for the next month. 

Elbow to elbow with human people who just can’t get enough of those ridiculous s’ more sets, lotion packs, and sausage samplers; easy gifts for those people you secretly dislike. Every person you pass reeking of pine or apples and cinnamon or, everyone’s favorite, pumpkin spice. My anxiety flares at the mere thought of it. 

I don’t anticipate a poorly lit plastic tree standing erect in my foyer. The likelihood that there will be a multitude of brilliantly colored lights ornamenting my little home is slim to none. A wreath, my only decoration, is hanging on my front door heralding in the Christmas season. It holds no pine cones or poinsettias. It has no bling and it’s not shabby chic. It’s nothing but a circle of thorns, a crown if you will. Simple, undecorated prickliness. Much like my attitude. 

This crown of thorns is intended to serve as a reminder to all that this next month isn’t about who can go into the most debt to buy their spoiled child the next big thing. Let’s all say this together now...Jesus is the reason for the season. 

My eyes look toward my brain (insert eye-roll emoji) at the scores of churchgoers who can’t get enough garland, rope lights and stately cypress corpses. Weekly pew ornaments whose great rooms will be littered with boxes of gifts for people who barely deserve a switch and a bag of coal. The places we go to meet and learn about God, and the actual birth of Jesus, will have Yule trees in their lobby!

I shake when I laugh, like a bowl full of jelly, at the depths people will go to celebrate “the birth of Christ” when in reality all of these things are pagan symbols. 

The only way some ancient, pudgy burglar sneaking into your house to leave your tiny humans trinkets invokes thoughts of Jesus is that he’d go visit Jesus if I caught him sneaking around eating my cookies. 

Now don’t misunderstand; if there’s a box in your gift wrap littered floor that has my name on it, I want it. If there’s a treat-filled stocking that you thought I’d like, I’ll take it. When you throw out your old TVs and game systems to replace them with your shiny new gadgets bring that trash to me. 

Enjoy your overindulgence. Fill your SD cards with photos of those miniature people ripping into toys that they’ll forget about as soon as they open the next box. Eat until your breeches pop and then leave cookies on the mantle. Go for the sugar-free version, Old Nick looks like he’s already knocking on diabetes’ door. 

Do all the things that bring you joy this Christmas season. 

Don’t forget, amongst all your dinner preparations, decorating and gift wrapping to pause and remember what this stolen season is meant to be about. Remember that babe in a manger. Remember how he got here, what he did in his 33 years on this planet and what he did for all of us. 

Remember the wreath. 

 

Amber Lollar is the reporter for The Henderson News. Her e-mail address is <reporter@thehendersonnews.com>. © 2019, Henderson Newspapers Inc.

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