Maybe Christmas...Perhaps...Means a Little Bit More

On Christmas Eve, after eating pizza and basking in a day of time well spent together, we settled in to read some Christmas stories.  Everyone picked one...either to reread or one we hadn't read yet this season.  (On an unrelated note, we had Adam read The Christmas Dress for Ellen because I can't make it through the first page without crying.  By the end Emma was tear streaked....my little girl is growing up.  Sigh.)

The book I picked was How the Grinch Stole Christmas.  I love it.

Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Crumpit,
He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!
“PoohPooh to the Whos!” he was grinchishly humming.
“They’re finding out now that no Christmas is coming!”
“They’re just waking up! I know just what they’ll do!”
“Their mouths will hang open a minute or two,
Then the Whos down in Whoville will all cry BooHoo!”
“That’s a noise,” grinned the Grinch, “That I simply MUST hear!”
So he paused. And the Grinch put his hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow.
But the sound wasn’t sad! Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn’t be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!
He stared down at Whoville! The Grinch popped his eyes!
Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!
Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any presents at all!
He HADN’T stopped Christmas from coming! IT CAME!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!
And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?”
“It came with out ribbons! It came without tags!”
“It came without packages, boxes or bags!”
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.”
“Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!”

As I was reading it, I thought about our Christmas.  All our packages, boxes and bags.  All our ribbons and tags.  We were all set to have a splendid, ample, noisy Christmas, festive and replete with celebration.  I wondered, "What if it was all gone?  Would Christmas still come like it had for the Whos down in Whoville?"  I hoped so.

We put our cherubs to bed and within a half hour, Braeden was up again, throwing up.

Then again.

Then again. (And again and again.)

We took it as a good sign that his wit started to return as he limped feebly back to bed.  At one point he said gloomily, "It's the most wonderful time of the year."

I went to bed and visions of nausea danced in my head.

Our Christmas morning was not what I'd expected.  It was subdued.  Mark lay on the couch and clutched his stomach and was not all that interested in his presents.  After the last gift was unwrapped, he went back to sleep for a few hours.  Braeden bravely soldiered on but his heart was not in it.  He truly felt lousy.

That night when I went to sleep, I felt the littlest bit melancholy.  It was a bit of a letdown.  We didn't feel the joy and enthusiasm we normally feel and had been anticipating.  (I also considered that if that was the worst thing that ever happened to us, we would be OK.)

Then I went to church on Sunday.  Don't you just love church?  I was reminded again and again by every song and lesson and talk given.  Christmas means a whole lot more.  Our Christmas, in it's slightly melancholy way WAS merry, VERY.

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.

Isaiah 9:6