TRADITIONS!

 “Traditions”--that song from the 1964 Broadway musical “Fiddler on the Roof” comes to mind as I watch the world unfurl the yearly holiday expectations. Every November through end-of-December, they fill our short, dark, and cold (at least in my area) days with huge to-do lists. Parties, gifts, silly sweaters, shopping, greeting cards...and don't forget to put the manger scene in the front yard along with the blow-up Santa and save out a dollar for the store-front kettle where somebody's ringing a bell.

Do you get dizzy thinking of all that? I do. For those for whom a family death or serious health issue has changed family dynamics, the things that have become “Christmas” start sounding a little “tinny.” To adopt an amusing phrase of our times—usually reserved for somebody with a difficult personality or circumstance—it's a bit of a “hot mess.”

For some odd reason, I recently thought of my late mother's hobby of collecting novelty salt and pepper shakers. This had become a “thing” among many in the 1940s and 1950s. She had so many that most sat hidden in an upper kitchen cupboard. The “tradition” that made those little containers the “must-have” hobby simply faded. Yes, there are folks around who still “collect.” My quick online check revealed someone selling 101 salt-pepper pairs for $475. But far fewer are enchanted than were a half century or more ago.

Maybe this is too big a stretch, but I wonder if some of our holiday must-dos are as compulsive as stacking pairs of novelty salt-and-pepper shakers in a display cupboard. At the bottom line, how much is really necessary? How much truly honors the true reason for the season: the fulfillment of God's promise to send His Son as a Savior?

Yes, I admit to embracing some “traditions” in my holiday celebration. One is sewing pajama pants for my grandsons, along with the trip to the fabric store so that they can pick out their favorite print. This year, as they scrambled up and down the flannel and fleece aisles, the cutting-table clerk watched them in wide-eyed disbelief. What can I say? At 8, 10 and 12, my grandsons can explode with energy. By the time Christmas morning comes, they have figured out which package holds the “jammies.”

It must run in the family genes. In my childhood Christmases, one of my “traditional” gifts would be a new nightgown that my mom sewed. But we had another tradition before opening gifts: that of my dad reading the Christmas story from Luke's Gospel. I'm glad he did. Although I was probably as itchy as my grandsons to dive into the packages under the tree, I needed that Biblical reminder that the holiday's real name was not “Giftmas,” but Christ-mas.