As a mom in 2015, it is difficult, if not impossible, to fully isolate oneself from the materialistic resonance that takes over the holiday season. We are bombarded with advertisements on television, on the radio, on Facebook, that promise happiness, perfection, serenity and peace so long as we drain our bank accounts on items that likely will provide only momentary joy and satisfaction. Our kids receive the never-ending message that "if only you had ...(fill in the blank)" that they would be fulfilled, self-actualized individuals. And, if they don't find just that one (or two, or three) perfect thing under their Christmas tree or as their families light the menorah or kinara, their families are, in sum, "less than." Clearly, Elizabeth has received the message: you should see her extensive letter to Santa Claus, which includes a request for a "stuffed ostrich." I can't make this stuff up.
Unfortunately, these messages, both subtle and blatant, have made their way into my brain. I am not proud of this one bit.
Earlier this weekend, Glen and David and I sat down to watch the George C. Scott version of A Christmas Carol. It was a spectacular telling of Dickens' classic story. The actors, the adapted screenplay, the costumes and set were, in my estimation, spot-on perfect. And, of course, the message of A Christmas Carol could not be more clear: share your treasure; give to others; love one another; take care of each other; create for yourself a legacy of love rather than selfishness. In one scene, the Cratchet family gathers around their table giving thanks for the small feast that Mr. Cratchet's salary could afford. Mr. Cratchet gives a toast to his nasty boss, Ebenezer Scrooge, acknowledging that the paltry salary he earns from working with Scrooge enabled the family to enjoy Christmas together. Tiny Tim - the voice of wisdom for the ages - is joyful in spirit and heart, despite his infirmity. Just that one scene - in a MOVIE, for Pete's sake - spoke volumes to me.
Then, as I spent time wrapping presents for the kids yesterday, I was struck by a paradox: while I was extremely grateful that our family has the means by which to provide lovely treats for our children at Christmas, I could not help but wonder whether we're setting an impossible bar higher and higher each year. I wondered whether as a mom I'm enabling my kids lose sight of the real reasons for which we celebrate holidays at this time of the year: to be honestly and genuinely thankful for what we have; to be together as a family; to relish our health and our home. Wrapping these presents, I pondered whether we truly are ensuring our children's happiness, or are doing them a disservice, by giving them more and more.
I believe it is true that the happiest and most content people among us are those who truly - TRULY - are grateful simply for what they have, and don't dwell on what they do not have. Sadly, I know I do the latter, and it's not something for which I am at all proud. Perhaps I can blame the media, peer pressure, family expectations, or God-knows-what else for downloading into my head the message that is looped over and over again: "if you JUST HAD (fill in the blank), YOU'D BE TRULY HAPPY." But it's a message that I've absorbed. It's a hard mantra from which to break free.
There's no need for me to go into detail about the things I covet, the things I think will provide happiness and real contentedness. But suffice it to say that Glen, my sainted husband, has heard all of it. ALL OF IT. And for him, it's truly not fair. Glen is the most balanced, grateful and self-actualized person I know. I hit the jackpot when I married him. When I grow up, I only hope I can have half of his common sense.
Don't get me wrong: I am humbled by and grateful for the bounty and blessings with which God has provided to me and my family. I treasure having a home in which to live, a bed in which to sleep, and a kitchen in which to feed my family. Glen and I have wonderful jobs. Our children attend an amazing school. We have many, many dear friends. Our families love us.
And yet, the materialistic messages stay in my head. It's awful. I'd like for them to go away, please. I mentioned Elizabeth's letter to Santa earlier. You know what David keeps saying he wants for Christmas? "I want everyone to have a nice Christmas," he tells me. David, my old soul, gets it.*
And, yet, in the spare moments that I can grab with the kids and Glen - to hug them, bury my face into their soft hair, feel their arms around me, plant kisses on their cheeks - I have a moment of repose from these messages. I find peace. I feel joy. And, briefly, I truly have enough.
A work in progress? Yep.
(*Okay. He did add that a new amplifier would be nice, too.)
