Christmas Traditions
As we enter into the limbo that is the last few days before a new year, when life tends to consist of a steady diet of leftovers, stocking candy, and holiday cookies, and Netflix surely sees an uptick in the number of active users, I thought I'd discipline myself enough to write a little something. With the sun shining brightly here and no snow where I am from, the decorations are starting to lose their magic even as I still turn on the twinkle lights at night for some last enjoyment. Finally, that longed-for, lazy stillness is upon me after all of the running, cooking, baking, buying, and crying from mental breakdowns have passed. With the handy help of antacids, my biggest mission is to clear the fridge of leftovers before they go bad and to shake this nasty chest cold--a product of too many days with too much stress, too few healthy meals, and too little sleep. Finally, I can ignore my arch-nemesis of productivity if I so choose even though it's a good idea to write and I'll probably feel better if I clean the house up and I wonder if I shouldn't make some soup with that leftover turkey? There is breathing and reading room and comfy clothes that don't constrict my expanding waistline. Raúl and I are warmer and kinder instead of snappy and defensive. There is the permission to actually rest. This is actually my favorite part of Christmas.
This Christmas was the first Christmas I spent in Honduras in two years, and it hit me like a ton of gift-wrapped bricks. Maybe it's because Raúl and I don't have kids of our own yet and thus our sense of family and family time is too fluid, but as much as I try to tell myself that I'll just make Christmas in Honduras special, it's really just not the same. Let me give you some insight into the differences of cultural Christmas traditions:
Growing up in West Virginia, Christmas almost always meant snow. And, if it didn't bring snow, it usually at least brought some cooler temperatures. With slushy roads and chilly winds, that made the comfort and warmth of home that much more magical. I love to travel and see new places, but in the place where I actually live, I tend to be a homebody. There is something so nice about being cuddled up inside while watching the grayness of the clouds outside, hear the creaking of the wind blowing against the window panes, and tiptoeing on cold, concrete floors to put another log in the wood stove. The coziness and protection of home and family is a sense that has no substitute. And, the togetherness my family has had is something I've learned that not everyone experiences. Growing up, I liked to sleep with my bedroom door open (I know, I know, not great in the event of a fire) because I could hear the movements and voices of my family as I went to sleep and knew I wasn't alone. Sundays, we went to church, came home and had a low-key lunch together, then everyone generally took a nap. I preferred napping in the living room, resting but still feeling close to everyone. When my family spends time together, we actually like to spend time together--joking, watching a movie, playing games, etc. all in the same room. Having a father whose love language is quality time, we learned that quality time means eye contact and really listening, close proximity and no distractions. Last year, Christmas Day was one of my most favorite days of the entire year. Everyone was at my parents' home. We all played games together. We ate leftovers and lounged and just enjoyed each other's presence.
I also grew up in a family culture of generosity and giving. One of my favorite Christmas memories was when I was around 11 or so and had saved up enough of my birthday money and allowances to buy Christmas gifts for my family members from my own money and not from money given to me by my parents. The gifts weren't great quality or extravagant, but they were my way of truly participating from my heart. In my family, we aren't stingy with each other. Now that we're all adults, we may not always have ample cash flow, but we do our best to bless one another. My siblings and I have talked about how we love the mutual respect and generosity that we share. There is never one person always asking or mooching or in need. There is never one person always giving and never receiving. When another has a need, we rally as a family, and we seem to take turns in doing so. Giving in that kind of environment of honor is actually life-replenishing to me. I never feel pressured or demanded by my family. My boundaries aren't crossed. And all joy is shared because we experience equal joy in both giving and receiving. We don't take each other for granted.
My Christmases as a kid were also marked by creativity. My parents know how to make things special but in a way that doesn't foster materialism. Oftentimes, the present itself was an afterthought to the treasure hunts, poetic clues, and surprises my dad would orchestrate. Even when it wasn't our treasure hunt, we were excited to be a part of it. Those are memories that will stick with me because they were experiences. My mom is always prepared and a champion of ongoing traditions. She's the stocking stuffer. She makes sure there is food that's different from the every day. We've come to rely on my mom's consistency as a planner--a gift I much more value now that I find myself in that role within my own life and circles. She's also someone who is so naturally excited about giving and so thoughtful in the details. She also can't keep a secret about anything, and if you want a genuine reaction of excitement, she's always the one you want to hear your news.
Apart from all of the joy and giving and running and sharing, my family also has known how to keep an element of sacredness to the holidays. Spiritually, that looked like reading the Bible together or spending quiet time with God before opening presents. It looked like candlelight services and observing their true love for Jesus on their faces. That sacredness also manifested in protecting family time and stillness. Amidst all of the build up and anticipation, I always knew that Christmas time was family time and would be a restful time together. There is a loyalty to one another that guards us from giving away all of our time to commitments, obligations, distractions, or even well-meaning events or friends. We fight to maintain that time together, and we mourn it whenever there are circumstances outside our control that do affect it.
Here in Honduras, it seems like there are so many opposites to what Christmas means for me. Whereas we tend to value the 25th, they more so celebrate the 24th--but only at night. Most people work the 24th during the day. In the US, due largely to the weather, we celebrate together, indoors, confined to a shared space. In Honduras, the 24th is celebrated mostly by buying a new set of clothes and by setting off fireworks. People often seek the streets or parties or going from house to house because they want to show off their clothes and because, obviously, ya set off fireworks outside. In the US, there is talking and stillness and the magic of quiet amidst snow and lights. Here, you can't hear anyone talking because your neighbors (or husband) are throwing loud fireworks outside your front door. It is an extrovert's holiday celebration, to be sure. When I ask Raúl about his Christmas memories and traditions, all he can remember liking is fireworks. And, to this day, his family doesn't do anything together on Christmas Eve. Everyone spends time with friends and in their own corners doing their own thing...which seems to be a theme not just confined to my husband's family. Also, Christmas seems to be very synonymous with drinking. I can't say that isn't the case in the US too, but at least for me, when I think of "Silent Night," "O Little Town of Bethlehem," and "O Holy Night," belligerent drunks stumbling all over the neighborhood really isn't what comes to mind. We, in the US, put a great importance on Christmas music as general promoters of the festive season. Here, they don't really have Christmas music other than "Feliz Navidad," and that's half-sung in English.
But, there most certainly are decorations. Because Halloween isn't widely celebrated here, Christmas decorations make an appearance in stores even earlier here than they do in the States. And, commercialism is in full swing even though shopping is typically very expensive with less variety than what you'd find in the States. Hondurans aren't culturally known as planners. They're more so last-minute kinds of people, so because we live near the capital city, it's just about chaos everywhere in the days leading up to Christmas. I generally try to do all of my gift and grocery shopping ahead of time so as to avoid the insanity of long checkout lines. Unfortunately, this year, I had to go out the day before Christmas Eve and spent 20 minutes looking for mall parking before finally just leaving.
Hondurans do have some special foods that they eat during the season. Sometimes they do make some more traditional Christmas dinners with a meat and some sides, but what always makes an appearance are nacatamales and torrejas. Nacatamales are seasoned lard bundles of rice, potatoes, and a piece of meat cooked, wrapped up in banana leaves to look like presents. Some of them even feature peas, green olives, raisins, and capers. When I first moved here, I was not a fan. Now, they've grown on me (if I add some lime juice and hot sauce). The thing about nacatamales though is that you can find them all year, so while they are a special food for Christmas, their lack of scarcity the rest of the year makes them lose some of their festive edge. Torrejas seem like a mutated version of French toast. Basically, every native Honduran dessert will be made with a giant block of sugar cane...the only thing that may vary is what gets soaked in the sugar cane and if milk is added to the sugar cane syrup. Torrejas are just slices of bread soaked in egg then fried then soaked in sugar cane water or sugar cane milk water. They are not my favorite even though I do love French toast. It's a textural thing.
There are also two general church camps when it comes to Christmas--there are those who go all out in celebrations, having large dinners and worship services so as to combat the general tendency of the population to get drunk and backslide over the holidays and there are the churches that have done enough of their historical homework to know that Christmas as we know it is largely derived from pagan feasts and practices and thus don't celebrate it at all. While I could be wrong, I sometimes think I feel a tongue clucking in my direction because I decorated a Christmas tree. I get the origins, but I also feel like as children of God, we have the power and permission to redeem. It's good to educate yourself--I'm never going to knock that--and at the end of the day, after you've educated yourself, I think you're capable of hearing from the Holy Spirit for yourself to develop your own convictions of what is and isn't right in regard to Christmas.
One of those convictions I've recently stumbled upon again is my need to address an ongoing Honduran Christmas tradition and character flaw within myself that is giving so that I don't have to feel the pain of not receiving (talking emotionally, not materialistically). We know that it is more blessed to give than to receive, but that only counts when we're giving with a free and joyful heart, not a grimacing one just trying to blind us from the lack in our own souls. This defense mechanism in my life is not native to Honduras. It was present in friendships in high school and just general personal weirdness for quite a while. After all of the counseling books I've read and work I've done on my emotional self, it still finds a way to rear its ugly head almost assuredly at Christmas and only when I'm in Honduras.
It started months before Christmas when I was already beginning to feel the weight that I wouldn't be spending Christmas with my family. While I only half-mourned that loss, I more so threw myself into planning--all of the planning--of how I was going to make Christmas special for others instead. A noble endeavor in theory but a feat that almost always ends in disappointment. I did give Raúl a pre-cursory warning that Christmas away from my family almost inevitably leads me to emotionally snap at some point, and that I'd need more emotional support and connection than normal--a statement said various times with true conviction that went just as in one ear and out the other of his ears as it did mine. Thankfully, I was greatly reined in by financial limitations this year, or I think the damage would have been worse. I made menus and budgeted down to the last cent. I made lists of people I wanted to give provisions to and wanted to buy gifts for. I made cookie recipe lists and small group game lists. I wrapped present upon present for said games and cooked for days on end. I cussed at the hole in my 20 lb turkey's roasting pan, kneaded rolls till my wrists hurt (my guests felt they might as well have been small bricks--lesson learned), and tried unsuccessfully to let my voice be heard in the middle of directing a White Elephant game that ended in tears (not my own). By the day before Christmas, all I wanted to do was cry and go somewhere to hide like a hermit. I actually spent my morning looking up Airbnbs all the while knowing I would have hungry people showing up to my house that night. In the midst of a lack of rest and just more disappointments than I could handle, my soul had hit a wall. The giving that was taking place was not within a culture of honor but a culture of consuming and striving on my own part though there were lights of honorable people dotting the way, keeping me afloat. (God bless her, Stef just about melted my heart on Christmas Eve with a simple, "How have you been feeling, Mami? Are you doing okay?") And, while I didn't totally fail since I did have some moments of listening to that underlying voice saying, "You're doing too much," I still found myself wondering, "Why do I do this to myself?!" and telling my mother to remind me the next time I spend a Christmas in Honduras that I'd much rather go to the beach and get away from it all than let my over-achiever loose again. Thankfully, my husband helped in restoring my soul. He decided not to work on Christmas Eve and spent the day helping me prepare food for the guests who'd be dropping by and letting me analyze and vent. Christmas Eve itself was actually pretty peaceful. I had some blessed moments with Stef. We didn't have so many guests that it was overwhelming. I kept my dog company since he was scared of the fireworks, and there was an element of that calming stillness I so desperately craved mainly because I had first slowed down enough to stubbornly find it for my own soul within.
If you're wondering what it's like to be a missionary at Christmas in a country that celebrates Christmas, in a country with a lot of Third World need, the answer is daunting. After two years of not celebrating Christmas here, I had forgotten how much need shows up on your doorstep unexpectedly in the midst of all of the need you've already calculated and planned for. I had forgotten how proximity to drug addicts at this time of year almost assuredly ends in painful disappointments. I had forgotten how young people here somehow get short-circuited in their decision making skills this time of year. I had forgotten how little receiving takes place for missionaries in December and how much of a sigh of relief takes place when it's all over. With that said, I had some of my kids opt to spend Christmas Eve with Raúl and me because they said we've provided them with their most special Christmases ever. I had a houseful of overjoyed teenagers and adults on the 22nd eating Christmas dinner and visiting with one another. I had some unexpected people take refuge in our home on Christmas Eve who spent it well-fed, surrounded by a healthy environment, and experiencing joy. It wasn't all rough, folks, and I'm sorry if cynicism has taken over this blog post! There are parts of it I'd probably still do again, but only keeping that ugly Christmas tradition of over-giving for the wrong reasons at bay.
In the midst of all of this, perhaps, the greatest breakthrough came amidst tears of exhaustion and a soul dry of love. It was the permission to shift focus and to take stock in priorities, how time is spent, and where my true heart resides. It was sitting to worship despite all of the pressures and needs of others crashing in and feeling the stress subside and a refilling of my soul. And, it was a clarity of purpose to simply seek to minister to the Person of God above all else and all others. It's tempting to get it backwards--to let the needs of people dictate ministry and to permit the whims of humans to demand how our time and energy is spent. We humans can be black holes and bottomless pits never knowing any bounds in terms of sucking others dry. But, when we seek to minister first and foremost to the Person of God, a miraculous thing happens--we get replenished and we lead others not to ourselves but to Him. I want this to be my new Christmas tradition. While I may have royally botched it this year in the name of getting distracted by good things, there is still hope for next year.
This Christmas was the first Christmas I spent in Honduras in two years, and it hit me like a ton of gift-wrapped bricks. Maybe it's because Raúl and I don't have kids of our own yet and thus our sense of family and family time is too fluid, but as much as I try to tell myself that I'll just make Christmas in Honduras special, it's really just not the same. Let me give you some insight into the differences of cultural Christmas traditions:
Growing up in West Virginia, Christmas almost always meant snow. And, if it didn't bring snow, it usually at least brought some cooler temperatures. With slushy roads and chilly winds, that made the comfort and warmth of home that much more magical. I love to travel and see new places, but in the place where I actually live, I tend to be a homebody. There is something so nice about being cuddled up inside while watching the grayness of the clouds outside, hear the creaking of the wind blowing against the window panes, and tiptoeing on cold, concrete floors to put another log in the wood stove. The coziness and protection of home and family is a sense that has no substitute. And, the togetherness my family has had is something I've learned that not everyone experiences. Growing up, I liked to sleep with my bedroom door open (I know, I know, not great in the event of a fire) because I could hear the movements and voices of my family as I went to sleep and knew I wasn't alone. Sundays, we went to church, came home and had a low-key lunch together, then everyone generally took a nap. I preferred napping in the living room, resting but still feeling close to everyone. When my family spends time together, we actually like to spend time together--joking, watching a movie, playing games, etc. all in the same room. Having a father whose love language is quality time, we learned that quality time means eye contact and really listening, close proximity and no distractions. Last year, Christmas Day was one of my most favorite days of the entire year. Everyone was at my parents' home. We all played games together. We ate leftovers and lounged and just enjoyed each other's presence.
I also grew up in a family culture of generosity and giving. One of my favorite Christmas memories was when I was around 11 or so and had saved up enough of my birthday money and allowances to buy Christmas gifts for my family members from my own money and not from money given to me by my parents. The gifts weren't great quality or extravagant, but they were my way of truly participating from my heart. In my family, we aren't stingy with each other. Now that we're all adults, we may not always have ample cash flow, but we do our best to bless one another. My siblings and I have talked about how we love the mutual respect and generosity that we share. There is never one person always asking or mooching or in need. There is never one person always giving and never receiving. When another has a need, we rally as a family, and we seem to take turns in doing so. Giving in that kind of environment of honor is actually life-replenishing to me. I never feel pressured or demanded by my family. My boundaries aren't crossed. And all joy is shared because we experience equal joy in both giving and receiving. We don't take each other for granted.
My Christmases as a kid were also marked by creativity. My parents know how to make things special but in a way that doesn't foster materialism. Oftentimes, the present itself was an afterthought to the treasure hunts, poetic clues, and surprises my dad would orchestrate. Even when it wasn't our treasure hunt, we were excited to be a part of it. Those are memories that will stick with me because they were experiences. My mom is always prepared and a champion of ongoing traditions. She's the stocking stuffer. She makes sure there is food that's different from the every day. We've come to rely on my mom's consistency as a planner--a gift I much more value now that I find myself in that role within my own life and circles. She's also someone who is so naturally excited about giving and so thoughtful in the details. She also can't keep a secret about anything, and if you want a genuine reaction of excitement, she's always the one you want to hear your news.
Apart from all of the joy and giving and running and sharing, my family also has known how to keep an element of sacredness to the holidays. Spiritually, that looked like reading the Bible together or spending quiet time with God before opening presents. It looked like candlelight services and observing their true love for Jesus on their faces. That sacredness also manifested in protecting family time and stillness. Amidst all of the build up and anticipation, I always knew that Christmas time was family time and would be a restful time together. There is a loyalty to one another that guards us from giving away all of our time to commitments, obligations, distractions, or even well-meaning events or friends. We fight to maintain that time together, and we mourn it whenever there are circumstances outside our control that do affect it.
Here in Honduras, it seems like there are so many opposites to what Christmas means for me. Whereas we tend to value the 25th, they more so celebrate the 24th--but only at night. Most people work the 24th during the day. In the US, due largely to the weather, we celebrate together, indoors, confined to a shared space. In Honduras, the 24th is celebrated mostly by buying a new set of clothes and by setting off fireworks. People often seek the streets or parties or going from house to house because they want to show off their clothes and because, obviously, ya set off fireworks outside. In the US, there is talking and stillness and the magic of quiet amidst snow and lights. Here, you can't hear anyone talking because your neighbors (or husband) are throwing loud fireworks outside your front door. It is an extrovert's holiday celebration, to be sure. When I ask Raúl about his Christmas memories and traditions, all he can remember liking is fireworks. And, to this day, his family doesn't do anything together on Christmas Eve. Everyone spends time with friends and in their own corners doing their own thing...which seems to be a theme not just confined to my husband's family. Also, Christmas seems to be very synonymous with drinking. I can't say that isn't the case in the US too, but at least for me, when I think of "Silent Night," "O Little Town of Bethlehem," and "O Holy Night," belligerent drunks stumbling all over the neighborhood really isn't what comes to mind. We, in the US, put a great importance on Christmas music as general promoters of the festive season. Here, they don't really have Christmas music other than "Feliz Navidad," and that's half-sung in English.
But, there most certainly are decorations. Because Halloween isn't widely celebrated here, Christmas decorations make an appearance in stores even earlier here than they do in the States. And, commercialism is in full swing even though shopping is typically very expensive with less variety than what you'd find in the States. Hondurans aren't culturally known as planners. They're more so last-minute kinds of people, so because we live near the capital city, it's just about chaos everywhere in the days leading up to Christmas. I generally try to do all of my gift and grocery shopping ahead of time so as to avoid the insanity of long checkout lines. Unfortunately, this year, I had to go out the day before Christmas Eve and spent 20 minutes looking for mall parking before finally just leaving.
Hondurans do have some special foods that they eat during the season. Sometimes they do make some more traditional Christmas dinners with a meat and some sides, but what always makes an appearance are nacatamales and torrejas. Nacatamales are seasoned lard bundles of rice, potatoes, and a piece of meat cooked, wrapped up in banana leaves to look like presents. Some of them even feature peas, green olives, raisins, and capers. When I first moved here, I was not a fan. Now, they've grown on me (if I add some lime juice and hot sauce). The thing about nacatamales though is that you can find them all year, so while they are a special food for Christmas, their lack of scarcity the rest of the year makes them lose some of their festive edge. Torrejas seem like a mutated version of French toast. Basically, every native Honduran dessert will be made with a giant block of sugar cane...the only thing that may vary is what gets soaked in the sugar cane and if milk is added to the sugar cane syrup. Torrejas are just slices of bread soaked in egg then fried then soaked in sugar cane water or sugar cane milk water. They are not my favorite even though I do love French toast. It's a textural thing.
There are also two general church camps when it comes to Christmas--there are those who go all out in celebrations, having large dinners and worship services so as to combat the general tendency of the population to get drunk and backslide over the holidays and there are the churches that have done enough of their historical homework to know that Christmas as we know it is largely derived from pagan feasts and practices and thus don't celebrate it at all. While I could be wrong, I sometimes think I feel a tongue clucking in my direction because I decorated a Christmas tree. I get the origins, but I also feel like as children of God, we have the power and permission to redeem. It's good to educate yourself--I'm never going to knock that--and at the end of the day, after you've educated yourself, I think you're capable of hearing from the Holy Spirit for yourself to develop your own convictions of what is and isn't right in regard to Christmas.
One of those convictions I've recently stumbled upon again is my need to address an ongoing Honduran Christmas tradition and character flaw within myself that is giving so that I don't have to feel the pain of not receiving (talking emotionally, not materialistically). We know that it is more blessed to give than to receive, but that only counts when we're giving with a free and joyful heart, not a grimacing one just trying to blind us from the lack in our own souls. This defense mechanism in my life is not native to Honduras. It was present in friendships in high school and just general personal weirdness for quite a while. After all of the counseling books I've read and work I've done on my emotional self, it still finds a way to rear its ugly head almost assuredly at Christmas and only when I'm in Honduras.
It started months before Christmas when I was already beginning to feel the weight that I wouldn't be spending Christmas with my family. While I only half-mourned that loss, I more so threw myself into planning--all of the planning--of how I was going to make Christmas special for others instead. A noble endeavor in theory but a feat that almost always ends in disappointment. I did give Raúl a pre-cursory warning that Christmas away from my family almost inevitably leads me to emotionally snap at some point, and that I'd need more emotional support and connection than normal--a statement said various times with true conviction that went just as in one ear and out the other of his ears as it did mine. Thankfully, I was greatly reined in by financial limitations this year, or I think the damage would have been worse. I made menus and budgeted down to the last cent. I made lists of people I wanted to give provisions to and wanted to buy gifts for. I made cookie recipe lists and small group game lists. I wrapped present upon present for said games and cooked for days on end. I cussed at the hole in my 20 lb turkey's roasting pan, kneaded rolls till my wrists hurt (my guests felt they might as well have been small bricks--lesson learned), and tried unsuccessfully to let my voice be heard in the middle of directing a White Elephant game that ended in tears (not my own). By the day before Christmas, all I wanted to do was cry and go somewhere to hide like a hermit. I actually spent my morning looking up Airbnbs all the while knowing I would have hungry people showing up to my house that night. In the midst of a lack of rest and just more disappointments than I could handle, my soul had hit a wall. The giving that was taking place was not within a culture of honor but a culture of consuming and striving on my own part though there were lights of honorable people dotting the way, keeping me afloat. (God bless her, Stef just about melted my heart on Christmas Eve with a simple, "How have you been feeling, Mami? Are you doing okay?") And, while I didn't totally fail since I did have some moments of listening to that underlying voice saying, "You're doing too much," I still found myself wondering, "Why do I do this to myself?!" and telling my mother to remind me the next time I spend a Christmas in Honduras that I'd much rather go to the beach and get away from it all than let my over-achiever loose again. Thankfully, my husband helped in restoring my soul. He decided not to work on Christmas Eve and spent the day helping me prepare food for the guests who'd be dropping by and letting me analyze and vent. Christmas Eve itself was actually pretty peaceful. I had some blessed moments with Stef. We didn't have so many guests that it was overwhelming. I kept my dog company since he was scared of the fireworks, and there was an element of that calming stillness I so desperately craved mainly because I had first slowed down enough to stubbornly find it for my own soul within.
If you're wondering what it's like to be a missionary at Christmas in a country that celebrates Christmas, in a country with a lot of Third World need, the answer is daunting. After two years of not celebrating Christmas here, I had forgotten how much need shows up on your doorstep unexpectedly in the midst of all of the need you've already calculated and planned for. I had forgotten how proximity to drug addicts at this time of year almost assuredly ends in painful disappointments. I had forgotten how young people here somehow get short-circuited in their decision making skills this time of year. I had forgotten how little receiving takes place for missionaries in December and how much of a sigh of relief takes place when it's all over. With that said, I had some of my kids opt to spend Christmas Eve with Raúl and me because they said we've provided them with their most special Christmases ever. I had a houseful of overjoyed teenagers and adults on the 22nd eating Christmas dinner and visiting with one another. I had some unexpected people take refuge in our home on Christmas Eve who spent it well-fed, surrounded by a healthy environment, and experiencing joy. It wasn't all rough, folks, and I'm sorry if cynicism has taken over this blog post! There are parts of it I'd probably still do again, but only keeping that ugly Christmas tradition of over-giving for the wrong reasons at bay.
In the midst of all of this, perhaps, the greatest breakthrough came amidst tears of exhaustion and a soul dry of love. It was the permission to shift focus and to take stock in priorities, how time is spent, and where my true heart resides. It was sitting to worship despite all of the pressures and needs of others crashing in and feeling the stress subside and a refilling of my soul. And, it was a clarity of purpose to simply seek to minister to the Person of God above all else and all others. It's tempting to get it backwards--to let the needs of people dictate ministry and to permit the whims of humans to demand how our time and energy is spent. We humans can be black holes and bottomless pits never knowing any bounds in terms of sucking others dry. But, when we seek to minister first and foremost to the Person of God, a miraculous thing happens--we get replenished and we lead others not to ourselves but to Him. I want this to be my new Christmas tradition. While I may have royally botched it this year in the name of getting distracted by good things, there is still hope for next year.
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