MUSINGS FROM THE MIND OF AMANDA

At eleven o’clock on Christmas morning, I was asleep. When I woke up, there were no shouts about Santa Claus, or frantic kids…Just my husband, sleeping beside me, and a cat slowly crushing my spleen with his oddly heavy feet. Our son, who is 19, had to work today; it’s his first Christmas away from home.

We got dressed and went to my mom’s for lunch, but it was quiet. My niece wasn’t there, and it was only me and Cary, my mom and my brother. It w as nice. No crazy unwrapping or comparing gifts; just lunch and a little quiet conversation.

Cary and I left and went riding around the lake…they’re draining it for work around the dam and I wanted to see it. It was quiet, but fun. You know the lake is my favorite place to be, even if there’s not much lake anymore. We left around dark and headed home. On the way, we stopped at our pastor’s and his wife’s house. They pretty much always issue an open invitation for holidays, and on this particular day, they were cooking enough fish and fries for us and about 238 of their closest friends.

One of their sons stopped by, and suddenly it wasn’t quiet anymore. He and his wife have three beautiful daughters, and they were so excited to see their grandparents at Christmas. After we all ate, they begged to open their presents, and their grandparents happily agreed. And then I realized what I missed the most about today: the chaos.

I miss the happy shouts of a child who just opened something they’ve “always wanted SO MUCH!.” I miss the piles of wrapping paper everywhere, and little pieces of tape stuck in weird places. I miss the half open boxes, and the kids screeching for you to open a present that requires an engineering degree, an act of Congress and a miracle to open. I miss the thank-yous and the hugs and the excitement and the joy.

I know that’s not what Christmas is about. I know it’s about Baby Jesus, and his mother, Mary and her husband Joseph and all the sacrifices they made. It’s about the miracle of a baby born of a virgin, and the beauty of God sending His only Son to us, so that we could be made worthy. I know this, and I celebrate the wonder of the Christmas story…

But, oh, how I miss the chaos. I miss the little boy that bounced on my head at six in the morning, shouting that he wanted to see what Santa brought. I miss the barely legible drawings from school on construction paper, and the lists for Santa, and how he’s wanted that toy his whole life (even though it only came out six months ago.). I miss the secrets and the surprises, and looking for just the right stocking stuffers. I miss picking out all the toys, and knowing how much he’d like them. I miss the piles of paper and the boxes and the trash. I miss my little boy.

Don’t misunderstand me: I couldn’t be more proud of the young man he’s becoming. He’s smart and steady and resourceful and dedicated to his job. He’s just what I hoped he would be. He works hard. He plans ahead. He makes good choices.

But, oh, how I miss the chaos today.