(LifeSiteNews) – ‘Twas two nights before Christmas, and my back was absolutely killing me.
Among the various tasks of the day, I had rolled out a block of marzipan, wrapped a Christmas cake (steeped for six weeks in brandy-soaked cheesecloth) with it, and stuck candied cherry halves on top. Then I painted the undersides of two dozen Christmas cookies with chocolate. After that I washed two pounds of Polish sauerkraut, boiled it with spices, squeezed it dry, and fried it with onions and mushrooms. While it was cooling, I made pierogi dough and then – trickiest kitchen job in the world – stuffed the sauerkraut mix into the pierogi circles. Meanwhile, there were the day’s meals to make and dishes to wash and coffee to brew and neighbours’ cats to feed.
“You seem to be doing a lot,” said my mother, at great risk to herself.
“I’m working tomorrow, so I have to do as much as possible now,” I testily replied.
Needless to say, by dinner I was a wreck. And I was deeply grieved that I didn’t have the energy to begin our traditional Christmas bun, which needs at least eight hours in the fridge before its second proofing. I went to bed worrying about how I was going to get that done, make soup pierogi, and pick up the goose at the poulterers, before I started work in the morning.
This morning, Christmas Eve, I did get the bun dough mixed and fridged, and I did get the goose. The soup pierogi could wait for my lunch break, I thought. But then I saw something: a little video posted on Facebook by a friend with 13 children. Adele was praying the St. Andrew Novena while lying on the floor “fixing [her] back.” All I could see in this video was a cupboard, a window and a string of colorful lights, but from the reference to her back, right when my own was beginning to twinge again, I knew that this woman was doing too much.
“Be easy on yourself,” I wrote. “It’s Christmas for you, too.”
But what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the other goose, too. After an interior struggle, I decided to dispense with the soup pierogi. We’ll be drinking the hot soup out of fancy coffee cups, and nobody will complain. For one thing, we’re not actually Polish – I just like Polish Christmas traditions.
Sometimes I envy women who have much more time – and bigger budgets – than I do to prepare for Christmas. (This year I even found out you can hire people to decorate your homes, although I gave up that crazy idea before I found out how much it costs.) Alongside the menu, I tend to plan a raft of special things to do during the Christmas break: more, in fact, than my husband and any visiting family members feel like doing (especially when it’s raining). That’s when I have to give up my ideas about hosting Christmas and just be at peace. After all, Christmas is the celebration of the birth of the Prince of Peace.
It has been a hard year for my husband and me, and my first attempt at a Christmas reflection was much too morose for publication. For example, I couldn’t stop thinking about the shepherds outside Bethlehem and how tough their lives were.
On Christmas Eve, our shepherds were cold, possibly wet, and undoubtedly checking on their sheep, which they sheltered in caves on winters’ nights. They had to keep a lookout for hungry wolves and lions, not to mention nasty brigands and members of the occupying forces. They were poor, low status, nomadic and – because frequently in contact with animals – usually ritually unclean. They were tired, likely miserable, and their lives had been such that when the Angel of the Lord appeared and the glory of the Lord shone around them, they weren’t filled with joy: they were terrified.
And then their miracle happened. Considered among the lower (if not the lowest) of the low, these shepherds were singled out by Almighty God to be the first to hear the most extraordinary news ever: the long-awaited Messiah had been born – and within walking distance, too. And as if the appearance of one angel was not enough of a blessing, an entire heavenly host appeared, singing glory to God and peace to men of good will. Not just to men of rank or power or property or ritual purity, but to those simply of good will – like our shepherds. So they did what would have been unthinkable without a divine command: they left their sheep, their sacred charge, to find this holy Baby.
That is where my first draft foundered. I knew intellectually that when they found the Holy Family, the shepherds must have been freed from their many cares, doubts, and resentments. After all, St. Luke records that they went home praising and glorifying God. However, I didn’t know what to say about that – probably because I was still full of cares, doubts, and resentments. So much to do to prepare for Christmas. So many doubts about decisions. So many resentments about my life as is versus as planned. I wasn’t expecting an angel visitation.
But then Adele, bless her, posted her funny floor-level-view video, and I discovered that her back hurt, too. To add weight to my argument that she should take it easier, I told her I had decided to simplify Christmas Eve supper. Just as the shepherds left their sheep, I left my pierogi plans. And that, dear readers, is when I finally began to feel that the Prince of Peace was at hand.
Have a very happy and blessed Christmas, and if something hurts, be easy on yourselves.
