Christmas - Smells like Coffee

Christmas. Like most Americans, I love this season. I find the shopping, the parties, the decorations and the time with family intoxicating. I squealed with delight when I was handed a red paper cup at Starbucks. I secretly pondered shipping off my roommates cats for the month of December when I learned they were the reason we can not have a Christmas tree in our home. I twisted a single strand of Christmas lights around our front porch banister in order to bring Christmas life to our cozy neighborhood street. I have a Christmas pillow case and a Christmas Kleenex box holder (thanks Aunt Fannie). Christmas makes me want to bake everyone a batch of pumpkin spice muffins and play a game of Dirty Santa.

I spoke with my BFF Jenn about our family Christmas traditions. An advent calendar at Starbucks prompted this conversation. I told her that my sister and I used to receive a present every day from Thanksgiving to Christmas Eve. Now, before you think I am some sort of spoiled girl who also got presents like ponies with giant red bows on them, you should know that these presents were often times pens or pencils. One year, I believe my mom may have used the same pencil every Monday. I think she just took it back in the night.

Isn't it funny how we all remember random events about Christmas. For example, I remember fighting with my sister every year about it being my turn or her turn to put the angel on top of the tree. This resulted in numerous snap shots of me with a red, wet and scrunched up space and her being lifted by my father like a ballerina to set the angel in her rightful spot on our artificial pine. Beautiful.

I remember when we would spend the week before Christmas at my Grandma's home in Pryor, OK. Her tiny house would hold my five cousins and their respective adults. My cousins and I would bundle up and head to the school park. I remember dancing along on the merry-go-round singing that "Tequila" song. You know, "da da da d-da-ddda-da Tequila!" Although, I said to my cousins, "What is Tequila?" Being the youngest, I asked a lot of these questions. They all shrugged. Matthew said, "Let's not sing it until we know." We agreed and inserted the word Tequila with Christmas Eve.

I remember the Christmas I wanted a Cabbage Patch Doll. That year, these toys were all the rage. My sister and I were dying to get our very own. We opened all of our presents - a Cabbage Patch dresser, a Cabbage Patch bunk bed, a Cabbage Patch diaper bag... No stinking doll. I was trying not to cry. Then, my mother told us to look behind the couch. There were two odd shaped presents, and we knew what they were. We tore them open as fast as we could. My sister's new baby had blond yarn hair, big blue eyes and her name was something beautiful like Denise (when you are 5, that is beautiful). I opened mine, and my baby was a he. A black, bald boy named "Tyree." Nothing against the African American Cabbage Patch Dolls, but that wasn't quite what I was expecting. However, I didn't care. He was mine to love.

This year, I am excited about spending Christmas with the newest members of our family - Jesse and Josiah. I am excited about seeing friends who I rarely get to see. I am excited that this is my last Christmas alone (I am setting my mind on what I have faith God will provide). I am excited that I can soak in the hot tub, read a good book and sleep in.

Most importantly, I am excited that I get to worship the fact that my savior, Jesus Christ, was born. He came with me in mind. He lived a blameless life, and yet, he took on all my shame because he loves me. That birth is just as important as his death. Praise God for Jesus.