We watched Small One on Sunday.
For those of you unfamiliar with this gem, ’tis a classic animated short from the days when Don Bluth was still working for Disney. It tells the story of a little boy and his pet donkey, Small One – the donkey who ends up (spoiler alert) being the beast that bears Mary to Bethlehem. This film is a favorite in our household, and one of our steadfast holiday traditions thus far.
I grew up in a home rich – nay, abundantly wealthy – in Christmas traditions. My parents loved Christmas and taught all of us to love it in turn, from the carols sung around the table to the annual Christmas Eve film (A Christmas Carol starring George C. Scott) to the “kings’ bags” (our take on stockings) on Christmas morning.
As an adult, I am still trying to negotiate the path of preserving traditions while creating my own. I tend to dive headfirst into Christmas: the music, the decorations, the baking, the movies, the choosing and wrapping of gifts, the ordering of one’s entire outfit around a pair of Christmas socks . . . I love it all.
Yet, I also find it important to continue searching for the balance my parents achieved so beautifully in my childhood memories – the balance between the fun and the reverent, the heartfelt and the holy.
The happiness and the joy.
This 3rd week of Advent, we light the Joy candle.
As I sat by our nativity scene to work on the poem for Joy, my heart was heavy with news from a few dear ones in whose grief (and gladness, in due season) it is my privilege to share. It seemed almost callous to be sipping eggnog hot chocolate and gazing peacefully at the figurine of baby Jesus, the songs from Small One still echoing soothingly in my mind.
I was also feeling the familiar sense of unreadiness: Advent is blazing by, and I am not sure I have found the aforementioned balance yet. My heart still feels stretched between the delightful sounds of the season and the sacred silence of the manger.
Yet, the poem that came was audacious in its simplicity. It served as a heavenly messenger, reminding me in gentle tones that, to a certain point, there need be no conflict between these two sides of the Christmas coin. To a surrendered, open heart, mayhap these moments of fun and beauty can become vessels of truth. What if each song/film/gift/decoration/cookie transformed even as it passed through my senses into fore-lightenings (better than foreshadowings) of the future for which all Christians hope?
Happiness is not joy. It is not necessary to joy, and neither is it always a byproduct.
But, perhaps a happy moment can be a signpost: a spirit-breath whispering “tidings of comfort and joy” to all who are trying to listen.
May we attune our ears this week.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go watch a Christmas movie while wrapping presents. I may even have some more eggnog.
With all my heart, I wish you several such “prequels” to Joy, this week and throughout the year.
*NOTE: Once again, I have addressed the poem to Joy directly. It is two verses, continuing the Christmas countdown from weeks one (Hope) and two (Peace). I tried to get it to you a bit earlier so you could reflect on this theme throughout the week.
Advent 2018
WEEK 3 – Joy
Though you are better still
Than warming after chill
Than settling a bill
Than mastering a skill
Than childlike wonder at a gifted toy
Yet I will not dismiss
These harbingers of bliss
Lest pride should make me miss
The prequels to your kiss
Preparing me to greet the coming Joy
Well said. Savor every glimmer, every note. Love you!?
You are an amazing writer, Ruth, my totally unbiased opinion!
I totally concur with the prior comment… You are gifted by our God to write! Don’t stop… Reading is hard for me but your words are pulling me on… Thank you.