Seasons and Gifts

I am convinced that one of the most marvelous gifts of raising children is the ability to be present for fundamental lessons taught to them by, and often needed by myself as a parent.

As we walked through the parking lot of Target this morning, I asked Bryton if he knew why we celebrated Christmas.  He flashed a snaggly toothed smile.  He eagerly, and with proper grammar, informed me that it was to celebrate Santa Clause!  No big surprise or need for panic.  As far as I had been concerned as a child raised in a Southern Baptist home (I am still recovering) - the value of December was strictly utilitarian.  I recognized it as the one time during the year that kids' greed is fed unabashedly.  And perhaps it is just as well.  I'll both spoil and brainwash my kid like everyone else.  But hopefully, one day he'll remember that it was, if nothing else, the anthropological belief of his family that modern Christmas and its gifts are symbolic of that which is the most divine gift of all.  

As I sit here writing - I am looking at one of the handful of colorful trees in Pensacola.  The leaves on the tree in front of my house are magnificent, especially in this area where there is little leaf color change.  I am thinking lately and often of seasons and the futility of fighting them.  I can visualize my spiritual self running around my tree, picking up all of the leaves, and attempting to reattach them with tape or perhaps a stapler.  Stapler most likely, as it presents the best opportunity for an injury (I did once unintentionally place a roofing staple into my hand, which necessitated a tetanus shot in the backside - a fond memory).

And so I am reminded of proper perspective and the futility of fighting seasons.  Embrace them, view them for what they are, and live.


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