I moved to Los Angeles in the middle of the 2006 holiday season, so that I could finally finish my degree and find a way to make a more creative living. I had grown up in the suburbs of San Diego, just far enough away to feel as if I were moving to a new country and just close enough to drive home for holiday weekends.
In the process of packing, I got rid of half of everything I owned. It felt freeing—there was less stuff weighing me down—but I also felt unmoored. The act of putting my whole existence in boxes and weeding through closets made me take stock of my life and all that I’d deemed important enough to take with me. And when I found myself suddenly adrift in an apartment full of moving boxes, Christmas traditions began to seem a little crazy: to-do lists, gift ideas, parties, gift wrapping, cards for coworkers, and white-elephant gift exchanges, plus a gift list that seemed to grow annually in my rather large family. It all felt so overwhelming; I was stressed just thinking about it.
It wasn’t that I wanted to cancel Christmas, however; I just wanted to postpone it until I had more time to make it meaningful—even though I had no idea where this magical “more time” would come from.
For starters, I decided to take a break from packing. I measured out sugar, butter, and flour. I peeled apples. I preheated the oven. I lit a Christmas candle and tuned Pandora to a Christmas station. And suddenly, it smelled and sounded like Christmas. What I really wanted, I realized, was for my life to be simpler. I wanted more time for my relationships. I wanted to not always be rushing around, trying to squeeze everything in at the last minute.
As the scent of apple pie and the melodies of Christmas carols filled my tiny apartment, I relaxed enough to be able to really listen to the songs’ words: “Come let us adore him … Come all ye faithful … Emmanuel, God with us … Come thou long expected Jesus … Joy to the world, the Lord has come … Repeat the sounding joy …” I found myself singing of God’s presence in the midst of my messy kitchen and my even crazier life. I had been missing the point. It wasn’t about lists and gifts—it was about presence, not presents. Or maybe the gift of presence.
