Love Is The True Reason For The Season

ESSAY | SPIRITUALITY

How my feelings about Christmas have changed as I’ve grown more spiritual

Christmas once brought me mixed feelings. Mom’s health wasn’t all the best and we three children were tasked with taking down all the mundane decorations, packing them away, and then bringing out the spectacular Christmas decorations. This little ritual began the day after Thanksgiving, and we’d spend nearly a week decorating — lights, babbles, angels, Santas, and elves. Our entire home became a Winter Wonderland. However, Jesus — the reason for the season — barely existed, only as a baby in a small manger set under the tree. I didn’t realize this until I was a young teen. We’d been raised as fairly conservative Christians — Southern Baptists — so I was always curious if Mom had kept Jesus out of the scene just for us kids or if she just loved the other decorations more. The lights and babbles did always make her eyes sparkle.

By the time we’d finished all the decorating, I was too exhausted to care about the festivities. I knew that in a few weeks, we’d be taking it all down and replacing it with the mundane again. I found little joy in these tasks. Although I found it all beautiful, I just couldn’t understand why all the fuss. Especially since we were relatively poor and Mom seemed to spend more money on her decorations than on gifts for us; but yes, there were always gifts.

I didn’t care much for the gifting part of Christmas. I rarely received what I’d asked for — books, art supplies, trucks (I was a bit of a tomboy). Instead, I would receive clothes I’d rarely wear, near-duplicate gifts my sister would receive, and a lot of dolls. I didn’t want dolls. I wanted trucks. After a while, I just stopped asking for anything and the random gifts I would receive felt more like afterthoughts than serious gifts.

The only part of Christmas that I did enjoy was the baked goods and homemade candy my mom would make. My mom was a whiz at baking — pies, cakes, cinnamon rolls, different types of cookies, loaves of potato bread and potato dinner rolls. She and one of my aunts would spend days making homemade candy too — rum balls, peanut butter logs, chocolate-covered cherries, mint leaves, peppermint patties, and four types of fudge. All of these would be divided up among our two families, placed in individual tins and given to us on Christmas morning. Overtime, I preferred these treats to store-bought items because I could feel the love and care my mom put into them.

After I left home at seventeen, I didn’t keep any of my family’s Christmas traditions. No Winter Wonderlands adorned my homes, and only occasionally would a small tree wander in, usually tucked away in a corner of my living room without much fanfare. I did none of the baking, candy making or large spreads of food. Now and again, I would buy gifts for others, all bedazzled with bright paper and bows, but I rarely asked for anything in return. I’d learned that lesson too well — I wouldn’t get what I really wanted, so why ask. I still enjoyed everyone else’s lights and babbles and well decorated homes, but I wanted to enjoy the true meaning of Christmas without all the exhausting work and the materialism that was our modern Christmases.

In my early twenties, Christmas lost most of its meaning for me because I’d lost my faith. I drifted toward Paganism and began celebrating Winter Solstice instead. Winter Solstice felt more real to me because of the Winter Wonderlands my mom had created when I was a child. The gift-giving felt more sincere as homemade gifts were shared among my Pagan friends. Yet, in a small corner of my altar, I would light a white candle for baby Jesus and chant a little prayer. I’d become just like my mom, after all.

These days, I still don’t celebrate a traditional Christmas. As a more spiritual person now, I know the true meaning of Christmas is love — giving it more than receiving it. If I can give to someone, I do — a gift, a hot meal, warm clothes, and/or money to the homeless or a special present for a friend. And although my spiritual beliefs align more with Buddhism now, I do still celebrate Winter Solstice instead of Christmas day.

I don’t do much decorating, but what bit I do is from years of collecting inclusive decorations, those objects that reflect who I am as a spiritual being. Most of the decorations have been given to me, like a copper-color treetopper from an Indigenous friend, and a set of black angels from a black friend. I have an artificial tree that stays up year round. During Winter solstice, it is decorated with bulbs and babbles from different cultures, religions and spiritual traditions — most bought on after-Christmas sales or given as gifts. I gather pinecones and evergreen ivy to adorn my living room. I string some clear lights around my most sacred objects and on the tree. And I still have an altar set up that now encompasses my beliefs in Buddhism, Hinduism, Paganism, Ascended Masters, and Archangels. I also still light a candle for Jesus, since he is one of my Ascended Masters.

Although I’ve never needed all the bright lights, babbles or gifting for this time of year to hold significant meaning for me, I’ve managed to make this a festive time that reflects who I am — there is no significant hard work or hours spent baking and cooking (although I do a bit of both, but not in a massive way) . And I no longer have mixed feelings, just contentment and love.

© 2020 Lori Carlson. All Rights Reserved.

Lori Carlson writes Poetry, Fiction, Articles, Creative Non-Fiction and Personal Essays. Most of her topics are centered around Relationships, Spirituality, Life Lessons, Mental Health, Nature, Loss, Death, and the LGBTQ+ community. Check out her personal Medium blog here.

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