there's something unreal about this year. the commercialism has finally reached its logical conclusion, perhaps. frosty has his song playing on a loop and tinsel gets in your face and they even sell real live seasonal must-have trees these days. IN THE TROPICS. in the steaming heat. with artificial snow. today i heard o come let us adore him played like a dirge of background noise at the clinic.
i'm not doing christmas this year, i tell HOM. let's keep things simple. no tree. no gifts. maybe a turkey. but only if it goes on sale. because i do feel that this year we have successfully squeezed the last vestiges of meaning out of the celebration of the birth of Christ.
thank God for the Incarnation. thank God for the incomprehensible exchange of his son's life for mine. thank God for the absolute security of knowing that nothing separates me from his love. thank God for the freedom and excitement of living in advent.
but christmas is another story. fuhgedaboudit.
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