"Darn that Myra Katherine and her Christmas Program Cr*p!"

This morning, I rushed into work, frazzled and out of breath. My husband started a new job, (a new and out of town job) and my babysitter was late. I forgot Coulter’s lunch and we couldn’t find his library book. With no book his car would have to move from green to yellow (the horrors!) so his frustration level was understandable; also understandable was the subtle hint that this was somehow my fault since I had obviously stashed it somewhere in preparation for the realtor’s first visit. I mean heaven forbid that potential buyers know that Coulter likes reading about snakes. They might think we’re part of some weird religious cult that worships with snakes. Anyway, late from the book; late from the lunch; late from the fact that our sitter was late; oh, and I had to vote. So, very uncharacteristically I rushed into work, frazzled and out of breath.


I only mention all of the above to give you an idea of my frame of mind when I finally settled in at the computer. Sitting down and trying to quickly catch up on emails before we began rehearsals, I couldn’t help but overhear one of the therapists next door complaining about something. Oh wait, she was complaining about me. I listened closer. (Of course, it’s not that hard to hear since both of our doors are wide open and she’s just across the hall.) First I heard mumblings of re-scheduling students and then a little louder and most clearly, I heard, “Ugh. I just hate this time of year with all this Christmas CRAP! Myra Katherine…..yada yada….more crap….yada yada…..Myra Katherine……” I could go on, but I suspect you get the picture. She’s not too excited about the Christmas program. Now, let me take a little detour and remind you that when I started this blog I told you that instead of making resolutions for the year, I had chosen a word. My word for the year was illumination. So please accept my sincerest of apologies for having to read icky, crude language such as Christmas crap (which just happens to be one of my least favorite words, like, ever) in a blog about little lights and illumination!

Continuing on…..I listened to the entire conversation and then I marched (well, marched may be too harsh; let's just say I walked quickly and with attitude) across the hall and made my presence known. Busted! Now, this is so not a mid-western thing to do. Mid-westerners are generally uber polite and avoid conflict. Most of my Midwestern friends would have just pretended not to hear. But I’m not a Midwesterner. I’m a Southerner and I come from a long line of tell-it-like-it-is, “Steel Magnolias” and I was not about to turn the other cheek (I mean technically, I think that’s what were supposed to do, but whatever, we’re also supposed to correct in love, and I'm sure I was very loving.) I didn’t say much, but I said enough to make her uncomfortable; I said enough to make her office-mate uncomfortable; in fact, I made her office-mate so uncomfortable that she later wrote me a note thanking me for all the work I do with children and how much she appreciates music. Uh, yeah. Uncomfortable.

In her defense, she is not alone in her opinions regarding Christmas programs; specifically Christmas programs at Children’s Home Society. For 2 months out of the year we disrupt a very protected schedule and we shove children (and their teachers) out (as in W-A-Y out) of their comfort zones. New schedules, less supervision, less class time, etc. Furthermore on the day of the event, everyone is completely and totally stressed out. The teachers are worried that their kids will melt-down; kids are worried they’ll be embarrassed or worse, that no-one will show up to watch them be embarrassed; therapist are stressed that we are causing children to be stressed and well, it’s safe to say that I’m the only one, or at least one of a very few, who gathers any enjoyment out of this day at all, and certainly out of the days and weeks leading up to said event.

But sitting high up on my pedestal, judging with contempt and being all righteous and horrified was pretty short lived. Later in the morning thoughts of how many times I too have complained, or talked and gossiped about my friends or colleagues came pouring into my head (darn that Holy Spirit getting into my head!) The only difference is that I’m usually smart enough to close the door. But am I smart enough to talk out of ear shot of my children? Am I thoughtful enough to consider letting it go and not saying it at all. Am I able to change the subject or steer it in another direction when necessary? Am I brave enough? Am I kind enough? As Emma Claire would say, “praaahbleee not!”

The therapist came to see me later in the day and apologized. As we talked about the extra stress of the holidays and the emotions that hang on like baggage for some, I was reminded of my friend Julie. Julie is a student at CHS whose father is also her grandfather. She drives her teachers crazy; she screams; she cries; she doesn’t do her work and yet I love Julie. She sings for me and I know that she’s in there somewhere trying so desperately to be heard. One day we were listening to The Four Seasons by Vivaldi. "Winter" was playing. I turned to one of the teacher assistants and complained, “you know the time of year when it’s freezing cold and everyone’s miserable.” Julie overheard me (as children always do) and she said, “Oh no! I love winter. That’s when we get presents!” One of her classmates corrected her, “Julie. We get presents two times a year. At Christmas and on our birthday.” We get presents two times a year. Gulp.

That day in class, listening to Mr. Vivaldi, I was a lot like my therapist friend; absorbed in and concerned only about myself and how winter and or the Christmas schedule affects me. The truth is that winter comes from God and it comes for a reason. Regardless of the cold and the snow and the wind, winter is a time for rejoicing; it is a time for celebrating the birth of a Savior. It is a time of remembering the greatest Gift of all and it is a time to celebrate with singing and playing and dancing and throwing schedules and comfort zones out the window and into that cold, blustery wind.

With the work day behind me, I rushed out of the office, frazzled and out of breath; much in the same way that I had arrived. I was anxious to hold my children and thankful for the reminder that our words matter. My hope for this Christmas season and time of Thanksgiving is that I can remain focused on what matters for my children, my students and my family; that I will be thankful and filled with joy overflowing; that I will be gracious in recognizing when someone is having a bad day and be quick to forgive instead of quick to judge; that I will remember my hope is in Him whom we celebrate; that I will remember the promise of Christmas and forget (and I quote) all the other cr*p!