(no subject)
Guys. GUYS. Let's have some back story here, as if you need it. Considering I've been writing in this particular journal since 2004 and liverjournal in general since 2001, and most of you have been there since the beginning.
I hate Christmas. Like a lot. I know it sounds weird coming from someone who loves God, Jesus specifically, and who has worked in church-related affairs for the last five years. But seriously, I hate Christmas. As far back as I can remember, my parents have fought every year. Starting in November and not ceasing until after the new year, I would hide in my room as they would argue about--get this--when to put up decorations. My mom wanted to put them up on Black Friday and take them down December 26. Dad insisted that they go up December 24 and come down New Year's Day. What this usually equaled was fighting from Nov. 1 until sometime in the middle of December when Mom would finally drag out the décor herself (as my sister and I worried that this would be the year she fell out of the attic) and put it away the day after Christmas. So that meant about two weeks of decorations we didn't even want anymore, then several weeks of feeling lousy over our fighting parents. Once I got to college, we started having our own celebrations, and they were lovely. And then I would go home and it would start again. After graduation they got divorced and it became a nonissue, but I immediately got a job in a church, which meant that I really didn't get to go home anyway. Except, you know, for a couple of days, but I had to return immediately to participate in the 120 Christmas activities at said church. Wash, rinse, repeat with the following church.
So while everyone else gets excited about pine and parties and caroling and at least eggnog (threw you a bone, there, Jams), Christmas stuff has always left me with this pit in my stomach that feels like I'm just holding my breath until it's over.
I wrote about it on another blog (I have as many blogs as my previous churches have had Christmas obligations), and mentioned the following:
I would be delighted if, eventually, everyone in my circle (both familial and friendly) turned to Oxfam for Christmas giftgiving. The very idea of it gives me that weird warmth-chill in my ribcage. Sort of like acid-reflux, only a good feeling. Warm fuzzies, perhaps. My sister, blessed woman that she is, gave Derek and me a wonderful gift last year of a donation to a charity of our choice. We decided on Vh1's Save the Music.
It's a tad thrilling to think that this could be the year that I love Christmas. If somebody would donate a donkey for me, that would probably cinch it.
Guys. I got a card at work today. The return address said "Matt Lott" and OxFam underneath it. The cover of the card had this guy:
and said, "We bought a donkey for you."
Then a message from Matt and Dani that said, "Let this be the year you love Christmas. From the two people who love you the most and see you the least."
I cried and cried.
Additionally:
Scott (Derek's uncle) caught wind that the Trans-Siberian Orchestra will be in Lexington and, save for the cost, we'd love to go. So he said he'd buy our tickets. Just like that.
Also, Derek's been composing a Philip Glass-esque piece since last year and I mentioned how I think it would be cool to recite the dry bones passage in Ezekiel 37 over it, so he went into Finale and finally put it to the right instruments and put the passage where it would go, and it was so delightful that I clapped.
I am in a healthy church, now. And I don't work there. And I love my job, and my co-workers, and we are decorating the office for Christmas tomorrow. Matt & Kelly and possibly Dustin are coming up on the 6th to decorate our house.
I just feel like everything is finally, after all this time, going to be okay and wonderful for Christmas. And it might finally usurp Halloween.
I hate Christmas. Like a lot. I know it sounds weird coming from someone who loves God, Jesus specifically, and who has worked in church-related affairs for the last five years. But seriously, I hate Christmas. As far back as I can remember, my parents have fought every year. Starting in November and not ceasing until after the new year, I would hide in my room as they would argue about--get this--when to put up decorations. My mom wanted to put them up on Black Friday and take them down December 26. Dad insisted that they go up December 24 and come down New Year's Day. What this usually equaled was fighting from Nov. 1 until sometime in the middle of December when Mom would finally drag out the décor herself (as my sister and I worried that this would be the year she fell out of the attic) and put it away the day after Christmas. So that meant about two weeks of decorations we didn't even want anymore, then several weeks of feeling lousy over our fighting parents. Once I got to college, we started having our own celebrations, and they were lovely. And then I would go home and it would start again. After graduation they got divorced and it became a nonissue, but I immediately got a job in a church, which meant that I really didn't get to go home anyway. Except, you know, for a couple of days, but I had to return immediately to participate in the 120 Christmas activities at said church. Wash, rinse, repeat with the following church.
So while everyone else gets excited about pine and parties and caroling and at least eggnog (threw you a bone, there, Jams), Christmas stuff has always left me with this pit in my stomach that feels like I'm just holding my breath until it's over.
I wrote about it on another blog (I have as many blogs as my previous churches have had Christmas obligations), and mentioned the following:
I would be delighted if, eventually, everyone in my circle (both familial and friendly) turned to Oxfam for Christmas giftgiving. The very idea of it gives me that weird warmth-chill in my ribcage. Sort of like acid-reflux, only a good feeling. Warm fuzzies, perhaps. My sister, blessed woman that she is, gave Derek and me a wonderful gift last year of a donation to a charity of our choice. We decided on Vh1's Save the Music.
It's a tad thrilling to think that this could be the year that I love Christmas. If somebody would donate a donkey for me, that would probably cinch it.
Guys. I got a card at work today. The return address said "Matt Lott" and OxFam underneath it. The cover of the card had this guy:
and said, "We bought a donkey for you."
Then a message from Matt and Dani that said, "Let this be the year you love Christmas. From the two people who love you the most and see you the least."
I cried and cried.
Additionally:
Scott (Derek's uncle) caught wind that the Trans-Siberian Orchestra will be in Lexington and, save for the cost, we'd love to go. So he said he'd buy our tickets. Just like that.
Also, Derek's been composing a Philip Glass-esque piece since last year and I mentioned how I think it would be cool to recite the dry bones passage in Ezekiel 37 over it, so he went into Finale and finally put it to the right instruments and put the passage where it would go, and it was so delightful that I clapped.
I am in a healthy church, now. And I don't work there. And I love my job, and my co-workers, and we are decorating the office for Christmas tomorrow. Matt & Kelly and possibly Dustin are coming up on the 6th to decorate our house.
I just feel like everything is finally, after all this time, going to be okay and wonderful for Christmas. And it might finally usurp Halloween.