No more carols ringing forth from my radio and my computer speakers. No more plotting the approach to the mall parking lot. Christmas – come and gone, in the relative blink of an eye. Pondering it as a kid, I spent weeks refining my list for Santa. Now as an adult trying to grasp and hold onto more and more of its meaning to me as a Christian, still it sneaks up and surprises me. I thought I was in the Christmas spirit as I floated around work on Tuesday, enjoying the relative peace and quiet, and the snowflakes falling outside. Then I thought I had the spirit when I was in church, singing Silent Night in the glow of candlelight and contemplating the birth of our Saviour. And then Christmas Day, watching my daughter open her presents, enjoying them one by one (she’s _still_ got presents she hasn’t opened yet), I thought I caught yet another glimpse.

Today, somehow it feels like I still missed it, like I’m still looking for it. I could give some smarmy feel-good statement, like Christmas isn’t just one day of the year. But I know that it really is, in all sorts of senses. Christmas has always seemed like that one day where the world doesn’t seem quite so messed up. The day after Christmas, that feeling of purity still echoes faintly, but doesn’t ring through nearly so clear. I’m not saying that my life is messed up in any sort of unusual way – this isn’t a confession to the world of some great character flaw or tribulation. Just the regular character flaws and tribulations brought into the world with that apple back in the garden. The Christmas spirit I look for year after year is that glimpse back into the garden, before the serpent slithers in. And I know I’m doomed to be disappointed – we’re not granted that sight here. But Christmas always seems to be just a hair away. It’s sort of like a child’s excitement about the chance to see Santa if she just got up at the right time. If I just looked at the right time in the right spot. . . sang (in the right key!) the right hymn. . . gave of myself to the right person. . .

I remember hearing some Christmas story somewhere about an offering laid at the feet of a statue of the Virgin Mary and her babe. Something about one particular offering making the baby Jesus smile. That’s the sort of thing I’m looking for, I think. And that’s the sort of Christmas spirit I want to teach our child.