I worked all yesterday afternoon in the Art Studio making cards. My intention was to make all my cards this year. I bought cards for the ones I wanted to get out early but then thought, “Wouldn’t it be nice to make my cards?” Yes. It was a lovely idea, however…
As a friend who is a painter entered the Studio yesterday she asked me what I was doing and I told her I was making Christmas cards. She looked at me as if I had lost my mind and then said, “You know they aren’t going to get there before Christmas at the rate you are going!” Humph! I thought. She obviously does not know the great joy my handmade cards will bring—even if they arrive after Christmas.
After almost 5 hours of making cards yesterday, I arrived home and counted the number of those remaining on my card list (which is not huge as I only send cards to those who are far away and those who generally only hear from us and we from them once a year). But still…
I have a lot of good ideas. At least, I think they are good ideas. But the reality is, as my husband reminded me this morning, “If you want to handcraft all your Christmas cards, you need to start that project in January!” He tells the truth. And I should. But I know I won’t. I’d like to send all beautiful handcrafted cards but I know that effort would last about two days in January and then I will have thought of 43 other projects I want to do and the cards would be set aside until December…
I am not really a procrastinator, though I do like that kick of energy that comes when a deadline is looming. I much prefer to have a project finished early. The problem is that rarely happens. Too many other ideas and projects get in the way it seems. Adult ADHD? Maybe.
And there is no rhyme or reason why some on my list of dearly loved will get a digital greeting with attached Christmas letter (sometimes I don’t have a physical mailing address—just an email address) and some will get a handmade card (which, who knows, they might find ugly) and others will get a lovely store-bought card which may or may not arrive by Christmas. I don’t divide friends into those groups. I just start writing notes, making cards, mailing cards in the order they pop into my brain. There is no hierarchy to my procrastination. Okay, I am a BIT of a procrastinator. I confess.
I faced into the impossibility of making all my Christmas cards this year and made a quick trip to Barnes and Noble this morning. I was surprised and delighted that they still had a wonderful selection of cards.
When I purchased my cards at Barnes and Noble this morning the cashier shared that they had sold more cards this year than in the last five years combined. People are longing to be connected I think.
I do love Christmas cards. I love it that a friend from our college days has sent us a lovely hand-drawn Christmas card featuring variations of a star ever since we graduated from Carolina; I love the variety of cards that arrive in our mailbox (I don’t think we have ever received a duplicate); I love hearing from people even if it is just once a year (yes, yes, how lovely to still be connected). I love getting mail in our mailbox that is not about signing up for a Medicare plan or supporting a favorite charity. I love some of the exquisite cards from those who did indeed begin working on them in January.
It is not really about the cards or the gifts or the tree or the cookies with the red and green sugar sprinkles. Those things are all lovely but they are not at the heart of it all.
American author and Presbyterian minister Frederick Buechner wrote:
The young clergyman and his wife do all the things you do on Christmas Eve. They string the lights and hang the ornaments. They supervise the hanging of the stockings. They tuck in the children. They lug the presents down out of hiding and pile them under the tree. Just as they're about to fall exhausted into bed, the husband remembers his neighbor's sheep. The man asked him to feed them for him while he was away, and in the press of other matters that night he forgot all about them. So down the hill he goes through knee-deep snow. He gets two bales of hay from the barn and carries them out to the shed. There's a forty-watt bulb hanging by its cord from the low roof, and he turns it on. The sheep huddle in a corner watching as he snaps the baling twine, shakes the squares of hay apart, and starts scattering it. Then they come bumbling and shoving to get at it with their foolish, mild faces, the puffs of their breath showing in the air. He is reaching to turn off the bulb and leave when suddenly he realizes where he is. The winter darkness. The glimmer of light. The smell of the hay and the sound of the animals eating. Where he is, of course, is the manger.
We, too, are called to pause, to forget about cards, purchased or handmade, gifts given or received, the menu for the festive holiday dinner, our plans or lack of plans for the present or the future. None of that really matters.
What matters is love. That is why we send cards, why we give gifts, why we sing songs, why we kiss under the mistletoe. The darkness of winter does not overcome us, but only reminds us to pause and to recognize where we stand. Each year we arrive at the same spot, right here, once again, at the manger, the place where love is born again and again and again.
Thank you, Jeanne - this one is special. I love that you quoted Frederick Buechner. Merry Christmas! ❤️
I agree with you, what matters is love and we need to remember what Christmas is all about. A well written article. I especially liked the story by Frederick Buechner. Hope you all had a Merry Christmas!