What happened to the joy?

I love Christmas.

I am slowly discovering though, that it is a different kind of love then when I was a child. Like most kids, to me Christmas meant presents, trees, Santa Claus, and mom's cookies. (Specifically her chocolate mint-frosted cookies, which are hands down the absolute best cookies. Ever. Seriously. Like, so good I hid them when she started putting together plates to give the neighbors. Christmas meant sharing. But not when it came to those cookies.)

And I'll admit, when I was a kid the thing I probably loved most about Christmas was the presents. Wondering what was hidden in those colorful boxes, what wonderful surprise was concealed underneath the tissue paper, and what would be waiting from Santa on Christmas morning.

And I wonder- is that really such a bad thing?

Alot of my joy even now is in memories of those Christmases when I was a child. Remembering counting off the days on the Advent calendars. The way our house constantly smelled of cookies. Being surprised when I opened my lunch box and discovering mom had sent a small container with a spoonful of leftover mint icing. Singing along to Christmas carols, and hunting for where mom had hidden the "stash of stuff" this year. (Even though I never peeked, there was still a thrill just in the knowing where it was.) Remembering lying there wide awake at 5:00 in the morning, willing the minute hand to speed up until that magical 6:00 hour when we were finally allowed to get up. And then the squeals and exclamations and shouts of joy as those boxes were finally unwrapped.

Now, as an adult, Christmas has a deeper meaning- one beyond the joy that comes from circling the pages of a toy catalog, gazing at store window displays, and dreaming up letters to Santa. I find joy in the familiar Christmas songs and beloved carols. I find peace sitting in a darkened room lit only by the glow of Christmas lights. I find comfort in the memories, and solace in knowing that Christmas goes beyond anything that can be bought from a store, or ordered over the internet.

But yet, why does Christmas seem to lose some of its magic as we grow up? What happens to it, to that joy, and where does it go? We feel guilty for anticipating what's in that pretty box because "that's not the reason for the season". Stress replaces anticipation, endless to do lists makes Christmas seem like a chore rather than a celebration, and when you smell Christmas cookies you also simultaneously imagine the numbers on the scale reading 20 pounds heavier. Christmas merchandise is making an appearance alongside the Halloween decorations, and the latest pop stars prancing around in nothing more than glorified Christmas colored underwear have the audacity to sing "O Holy Night". In some ways, I can completely understand how easy it is have the real joy of Christmas buried under the tinsel and trappings.

As adults, we're focusing on remembering the "reason for the season", admonishing that it's not all about the stuff, and aren't letting kids believe in Santa Claus. Yet it's not kids who are snapping at salespeople in the store, stressing about how on earth everything is going to get done, and bemoaning that Christmas always come too quickly. Instead of dealing with the unpleasant, we throw some more tinsel on it and pretend it's all okay. But what kind of joy is it if it has to be forced? If that's what remembering the reason for the season is all about- I think I'd rather go back to being seven and oblivious again.

I don't think there is a right or wrong kind of joy at Christmas. And there's no right or wrong place to find it. Whether it's found sitting in a church service or in a child's anticipation of Santa. In the stanzas of a familiar Christmas hymn or your 1st grader's debut as Rudolph in the school play. In the reading of the Christmas story or in watching someone you love open that perfect gift. It's found in the glow of the Christmas lights and in the grasp of a friend's hand. It's in the glue holding together a child's macaroni wreath and in the kind that binds together family and friends.

The commercialism of Christmas drives me insane. I hate that Thanksgiving gets lost in the shuffle, and as far as I'm concerned, a little of those inflatable lawn ornaments goes a long way. I struggle with buying gifts out of obligation and not from the heart. I eat Christmas cookies and can't help but count calories. And if I had my way, "Blue Christmas", "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree", and "Santa Baby" would be outlawed from every radio station there is.

But the great thing about joy is that if you really try- it surpasses all those things. So what if your neighbor has twenty inflatable musical lawn ornaments strewn across their yard? So what if your pants start to feel a little tight? So what if the relatives you haven't seen or talked to since you were five don't get a Christmas card? So what if "Blue Christmas" has been played for the fifth time in.... nope, wait. When it comes to Blue Christmas, there is no redeeming joy. Seriously- Worst. Song. Ever.

But you get what I mean. I wonder what would happen if we stopped trying so hard to make Christmas fit into our perfect molds of what it should be, and instead just let Christmas be what it was meant to be. A season of joy. Of hope. Of doing less and gaining more. I think we'd find that the magic of Christmas doesn't disappear as we grow up... it just needs the tinsel dusted off a little.