Exiled King

I like the way Christmas has evolved to become almost nothing. From its monumental and magical centrality in my childhood, through the years of parenting when it was a big stressful production, to this elder era, when my wife and I agree…we enjoy giving each other a few gifts, but we’re done with all the trappings. No decorated tree, no hanging stockings, no cliche music. Some good food with family, but only a select few. Peace and quiet.

What is left to get excited about when one is seventy-three? Only things with which one can engage in depth, in thoughtfulness. Only things with meaning.

I say “one” as if I’m making a generalization about senior citizens, but I’m really talking about myself only. And of course, meaning is found wherever you create it…so for those who care to dig beyond the society’s tinsel Christmas wrapping in search of something deeper, I wish them well. My preference is to separate myself from it entirely, and find meaning elsewhere.

For example, in questions. What is behind all this? Backstage, the nuts and bolts of the gigantic, infinitely complex theatrical extravaganza of life. And even more impossible to answer: why?

Christians might attempt an explanation, and connect it to Christmas: the birth of Jesus, son of God, manifesting a divine plan for all humankind. I understand that story very well, having been taught it in great detail throughout all the years of my childhood and youth. But I can’t make it make sense, so I look elsewhere.

Now, dinner is finished, kitchen clean, family gone…the fire in the wood stove glows and the house is quiet. Maybe this is where we find a window into the what and the why.

I am grateful for everything that comes before this sentence.