Tis' the Season

As I pulled into the crowded Kroger parking lot, I took my place in the long line of cars that were gridlocked near the front entrance. "I knew I should have taken the side entrance," I complained to myself. From my vantage point, I could see the gas pumps on the other side of the parking lot, I just couldn't quite get there. With each moment that passed, my gas gauge inched closer to empty. "Why did you wait so long to get gas? Are you some kind of mad man?"

The Kroger fuel pumps seemed like a desert oasis off in the distance. "I'm an idiot. Why didn't I just take the side entrance?" A sea of red brake lights lit up the dim parking lot on the cold overcast day. This time of year, even lunch time feels like dusk. The hot exhaust from the cars meeting the frigid winter air, sent out clouds of heavy grey smoke.

Then suddenly the sound of car horns could be heard over my XM Christmas music. Almost like an allergic chain reaction, more car horns blared loudly over Bing Crosby's "White Christmas." Everyone had grown tired of waiting. Everyone had reached the end of their patience with not moving. Cars inched closer to each other. Windows were rolled down. A balled up fist emerged from a sedan. A lady leaned her head and shoulders out the drivers side window and shouted at the cars in front of her. You know, because that normally works. Shoppers leaving the store threw up their hands in disgust as they navigated the sea of metal with their shopping carts filled with things.

A survivor of the angry parking lot gridlock of 2018, I made my way to the gas filling area. I started to pull into a middle pump...but not before a small sedan zipped in just in front of me. With Christmas music still playing, I took a deep breath and started circling again to find an open spot. A few moments later, I found another pump and pulled in. Opening my car door, I was immediately greeted by a strong piercing wind and the sound of a lady shouting at the gas station attendant.

"It said to see you about my card!" the lady shouted through the small circular hole cut out of the bullet proof glass, which separated the gas station attendant from the customers. "What is that supposed to mean?!? "See you about my card!?!" Do I need to go someplace else?!! Is this too difficult for you!?!" The older attendant behind the glass fumbled around with the computer in front of him as the lady turned and stormed away. Tis' the season I guess.

Just a few days prior to what I've described above, was "Black Friday." News reports showed mobs of people pushing each other through the small opening of a retail store in Chattanooga. The poor store attendant forced to jump on a table filled with sweatshirts to avoid being trampled. Tis' the season, right?

So, if the above is how we celebrate the holidays and the above events demonstrate how we treat each other in response to that celebration, why are we even celebrating? Like the destructive mob of sports fans tearing their own city apart after the home team wins the championship game, our response to the holidays makes no sense. What are we doing? Guys...what...are....we...doing?

For people of faith, we profess to celebrate Christmas in order to recognize the birth of Christ. Our actions and our celebrations however are anything but Christ-like. I saw and shared a meme on social media the other day that offered up some sage advice...

"Want to keep Christ in "Christmas" Then, feed the hungry, comfort the afflicted, love the outcast, forgive the wrongdoer, inspire the hopeless."

We've turned Christmas into a commercial celebration of consumption. Stress and tensions run highest this time of year. What a shame. This year instead of giving a gift, that someone may or may not need or want, give encouragement. Give Hope, Give Peace, Give Joy, Give Love. That's what the season is about. Do those things in remembrance and in recognition of Christ. After all, Tis' the Season.

Much Love, Adam

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I once was lost, but now I’m found

Image
Two old men were lost driving together through Kentucky. When they finally saw a sign on the side of the interstate for the approaching town, the old man driving said, “We're almost to “Lewis-ville.” The old man sitting beside him in the passenger seat said, “It’s “Louie-ville.”" They argued back and forth about the pronunciation for a few minutes before the driver suggested, “let’s take the next exit, go into town and ask a local, then we will listen to them carefully as they tell us the name of the town, and we will have our answer.” The old man in the passenger seat agreed that would be a fair resolution to their dispute. So the driver pulled off the interstate, and into the parking lot of a local store, and the two old men went inside. The driver pleaded with the worker inside, “Sir, help my friend and me, please. Tell us very slowly and very clearly, where are we right this minute?" The worker leans forward over the counter and tells the two older gentleman, “Bur-G
Read more

My Favorite Floaties

Image
"I'm drowning, Amber. I can't do it. I can't keep my head above water." My voice cracked and I tried not to cry on the phone. How humiliating would that be? A grown man breaking down like a child talking to his fiancé. I was nearing the end of my first semester of law school. I was living alone in a small one bedroom apartment, and my closest family member lived four hours, and one state away. I didn't attend the most prestigious law school in the country, not even by a long shot, which made my struggles with the curriculum all the more frustrating. To give myself some credit, it wasn't really the curriculum, as much as the volume of the curriculum. The reading assignments never let up. Never. In undergrad, I could "buckle down," read ahead a little, and be just fine. In law school I felt like "Johnny 5" from the 1986 movie, "Short Circuit," and I still couldn't keep up. See the video below if you've not seen that c
Read more

The Love of a Teacher

Image
I still remember the nervous excitement as I walked into the kindergarten wing of Woodland Elementary School for the first time. We were the "mustangs" then, apparently they are the "hawks" now. Sadly, I must have missed the vote for the mascot change. At any rate, getting back to kindergarten, my socks were pulled up to my knees, and my empty backpack was strapped loosely around my shoulders. I had a fresh haircut from Ross the Boss and I sported a buck toothed smile. The same goofy smile my 9 year old son now flashes at me from time to time (Sorry about the big teeth, J.B.)  When I learned during the summer before kindergarten that my teacher's name was Ms. Thompson, I remember lying in my water bed (Don't you judge me, you had one too) and wondering what kind of teacher Ms. Thompson would be. Would she be strict? Would she be fun? Would she be kind? Would she like me? It turns out, she was a wonderful lady, who had the keen ability to ma
Read more