During this “white
Christmas” season I used to only sing about, I have discovered another
unexpected snag to my contentment.
Besides missing the blooming poinsettia plants that always heralded the
coming of the Christmas season (rather than snow), I have found a few other odd
remnants of my old life in Mexico that tug at my heart.
For instance, in Oaxaca I used to feel deprived of certain
activities around Christmas time, so I initiated new rituals to make up for
what was lacking. To soothe my
yearning for the Christmas carolers who would never sing on street corners in
Mexico, I began to take family and friends caroling through the neighborhood
followed by a big Christmas party.
Through the years, our caroling parties became a fond tradition, and I
no longer ached for the “real” carolers that were not part of my Mexican
existence.
Now I am in Holland, Michigan, where I should have been
delighted to hear carolers dressed up in Santa hats singing on the street
corners of downtown Main Street.
It was exactly like I always imagined I had missed. It was beautiful. Sublime. Four-part harmony, no less. My heart was touched by the simplicity and charm of it
all. But how did I respond? I cried! Not just for the beauty of it, but for the deep longing in
my heart for the other made-up tradition in Mexico. The real thing reminded me of the substitute, and I realized
that I preferred the substitute to the real thing.
Likewise I was reduced to tears over my unsuccessful attempt
to find an affordable artificial Christmas tree in Michigan to replace the one
we left behind in Mexico. The
artificial one was a substitute for the real live tree we preferred but never
could find at a reasonable price.
Suddenly it hit me that we could and probably should just buy a real
live tree again this year. That’s
what I used to always want. Now I
am not sure what I want. Nothing
seems quite right.
The real deal and the substitute and then the new real thing
that replaces the substitute I prefer – it all gets too complicated to even
examine. The bottom line once
again is that contentment, true contentment, is always illusive.
Last week I attended a ladies' tea at a ginormous local church we attend, and it was surreal. The table settings and desserts were exquisite; each one was as creatively unique as the hostesses. Listening to hundreds of women singing Christmas carols - I was reduced to tears again. This time my tears were not only tears of homesickness for our simple little Christmas teas we used to have in Mexico, but tears of nostalgia, reminding me of something I can't quite touch. Something I vaguely recognize but have never experienced in its fullness....
It made me long for heaven. Again! Then and
only then will I ever feel I have arrived, that things are settled, that things
are “as they should be.” If
anything, I think I should examine my heart to find what substitutes for heaven
I have settled for, things that bring joy when I should settle for longing. When things begin to feel “right” this
side of heaven, maybe I have settled for way too little, and my heart is in the
wrong place. Maybe I am too at
home in the world when I should just be passing through.
“If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.” C. S. Lewis
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