No self-respecting kid would agree, but it seems like most of us adults are having a hard time wrapping our heads around the fact that Christmas is, in fact, almost here.
My internal calendar says it should be about mid-October. Gotta get a new battery for that thing.
Some of you had your shopping done in September (this eye roll is for you), but a bunch of the rest of us wondered how on earth we’d get everything bought, wrapped, decorated and baked in time.
Now what if in the midst of all your pre-Christmas frenzy somebody flipped the calendar ahead two weeks and you suddenly had even less time to get ready for it all? Welcome to my world because, silly me, I had a major knee surgery on Dec. 12.
I know it seems insane to voluntarily spend the “most wonderful time of the year” tethered at home to orthopedic ice and knee-bending machines, but when I realized our insurance company would completely cover the cost of getting my knee joint replaced if I got it done by Dec. 31, it was pretty much a no-brainer.
I’ve always been a sucker for a good deal, but mostly I’m a sucker for being active, which has become increasingly difficult with my wrecked knee. So, Santa came a bit early and had a shiny new knee in that bag of his.
In fact, Santa came surprisingly early, which meant I had to run around like a crazy woman to get my halls decked, cookies baked, and gifts bought, wrapped, and shipped across the universe before Dec. 12.
I’m not usually a big procrastinator, but I certainly had to kick that superpower up to a whole new level to pull this off. Every spare minute between Thanksgiving and Dec. 12 was devoted to getting things crossed off my to-do list as I prepared for weeks of mindlessly binge-watching Netflix. (Oops, did I say that? Of course I meant weeks of prayer and deep spiritual contemplation.)
But the worst part of this wasn’t the racing around to get everything done early, or missing a few holiday events and parties. The most daunting part is the physical pain I signed up for. Who in their right mind invites intense pain in the door in the middle of what’s supposed to be the hap-happiest season of all?
But, then again, maybe it’s strangely appropriate, as it reminds me how Jesus volunteered for all kinds of pain when He left Heaven to live here among us. It may get buried under a lot of tinsel, but the sacrificial suffering of Jesus on our behalf is the heart of Christmas.
He laid aside His God privileges, wrapped Himself in frail flesh, spent 30-plus years on Earth, and experienced the worst fallen humanity and the forces of hell can dish out—all to bring us into right relationship with His Father and make a way for us to spend eternity in Heaven.
I’m choosing to suffer a little to save money; Jesus suffered infinitely more to save us.
“But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed (Isaiah 53:5).”
Christmas isn’t exactly how I want it to be this year, but you know what? That’s okay. Nothing can steal the heart of the holiday unless I let it. Thanks to Jesus, I have many things to be grateful for and all eternity to enjoy a perfect, pain-free life.
And among those blessings I’m counting, there’s always this: at least I’m not an octopus. If one leg can hurt this much, I’d sure hate to think about having eight.