Several people I interacted with today said they are swamped. The calendar is marching and the list of tasks tapping their toes will not be ignored.
In the post office today the lady behind the counter looked harried. She swept around marking bins of mail to be sorted and delivered, aware that the line
behind me was stretching around the corner but she could not even begin to serve us until she was done. The truck was here for today's load.
I gave her a stack of Christmas cards that I thought needed more postage but she tossed them in the bin and waved me away. I think she just decided the extra few cents was not worth her time. She was behind and getting behinder.
The irony is that many of us look forward to Christmas for a
long time. Yet when it starts breathing down our necks we feel like a post lady with too many customers. Peace has no room in the inn of our brains.
The babies who portrayed Jesus in the Tableaux we were part of last weekend had one thing covered. They were not in a hurry. One opened her wide eyes and locked them on the girl angels around her, as if she had her own real live mobile dancing above her sweet head. Another snuggled down into the sheepskin he was laying
on, and enjoyed the serenade around him. One baby had a mound of dark hair and made a string of strangers tear up simply from looking at her. The last baby of the day closed his eyes and slept.
As a member of the choir I watched sixteen hundred people walk up to that manger and gaze. Their steps slowed, their eyes all went to the infant, who did not seem to notice being the focus of attention. I could almost hear the collective crowd's blood pressure lower.
If there had been sharp words among family members trying to get out the door to arrive in time for good seats, there was no rushing now. Slow meant a bigger slice of innocence, and if there is one antidote to anxiety, that's it.
I hope I can remember to slow the pace this Christmas. Probably all the things I aspire to will not happen. The dinner table may be less than perfect. The distribution of gifts will not be even. John may not follow through the
way I expect him to.
But maybe I can remember the feeling that came from being in the presence of someone whose feet have never touched the ground.
