Brutal honesty here. I have never been a big fan of Christmas inflatables. A Moravian star hanging on the front porch and a boxwood wreath with a simple red velvet bow are my favorite exterior decorations. If you've ridden by my house lately, you'll have seen my star - along with strings of bright-colored-retro-bulb lights wound around the columns - nary a boxwood in sight. This is the essence of my marriage... one introvert and one extrovert somehow hanging together and making it work. Pray for my Extrovert - pandemic-induced isolation has been rough on him. I digress... inflatables.
Before I'm labeled a Scrooge and banned from viewing the Christmas-light-extravaganzas around town, allow me to explain. I really enjoy seeing the giant Santa in sunglasses and a hula skirt down the street. And the snowman across the road. And the house in the next neighborhood over that has synchronized yard displays with music from a radio station. These are all wonders to behold. What I truly dislike - what makes me really, really sad - is riding by these houses in the daylight. When the inflatables are flate (ok... flat). What was a joyful, swaying Santa last night is a red and white blob that is only marginally recognizable in the morning. I find myself wanting to holler out the window, "If you can afford to buy all those (surprisingly expensive) characters, can you not pay to keep them blowed up for a month?" (I know... grammar... also Southern so what you gonna do?) I have, heretofore, managed to restrain myself from the hollering but I do mumble to myself with the windows rolled up. In the grand scheme of life, a pile of waterproof nylon laying (lying?... dang grammar again!) in somebody's yard is not even worth noting. But here I am... blathering on. Which begs the question... why?
I'm not completely sure, but I have this little thought that maybe it hits too close to home... figuratively, I mean. Because, when I see those bits of bright cloth tossed around the yard, sometimes I see myself all flopped over and scattered. Fluctuating between joy and sorrow; energetic and worn-slap-to-a-frazzle; filled to overflowing and flat-empty. Or, maybe just maybe, it has to do with connection to the power source. Plugged in, they stand up... unplugged, they fall down. Ah, there it is. Plugged in, they stand up. Unplugged, they fall down.
The news has been rough lately... tornadoes and diagnoses and faith-rattling reminders of mortality. Enough to take the wind out of the proverbial sails... or the air out of the dancing Santa, if you will. But it has also been wonderful... people helping each other and music and dancing and really good stuffed chicken. What are we to do with it all? The best I can figure is that we just have to keep plugging in and trying to stand up - even if we flail around in the effort. For me, it's back to basics... time-worn familiar Scripture; hollering at Alexa to play Christmas carols; worshipping with old friends; lighting candles; wrapping gifts... ok, and predictably lame Hallmark movies (yes, I said it... I also watch them and frequently tear up when it starts snowing and the ladder-climbing-big-city girl decides to move back to her picturesque little hometown and marry her high-school-flame-now-single-father handyman - who is unaccountably wealthy - while saving the family bakery from real estate developers). Also, thanking my neighbors for having the good sense to unplug their decorations during the days so that I can (finally) see bright bits of God-strewn-grace all around. Plug in. Stand up. Repeat. Selah.
Comments