Christmas

Christmas, to many, is a stressful and even depressing time of the year. It is the season of obligation, spending, and of being reminded of those who aren’t here this year to celebrate with us. It is the season of expectations. Being in the dark, cold, dreary winter doesn’t help either. Every year I have to leave people off of the gift list, and I am sure it hurts me much more than it does them. So why am I still such a Christmas cheeseball? Why do I still have that child-like excitement every year at Christmas? I’d have to say that my good Christmas memories far exceed the bad ones. And I promise it has nothing to do with “things”. Here, I share with you some Christmas memories.



It was tradition for Amy and me to sleep in her bed together on Christmas Eve night (which we did most of the time anyway). We would giggle and whisper about what we thought Santa would bring us. Every few minutes, Mama or Daddy would tell us to quiet down and go to sleep so Santa could come. One year in particular Amy and I both woke up before four in the morning. We tiptoed through the kitchen and peeped around the corner into the living room where the Christmas tree sat right in front of the window. It was completely dark except for the amber glow of the Christmas tree tossing light upon the room. Santa had already been to our house and his bag had yielded for us both an impressive mound of gifts under the tree. We knew it was too early to wake up Mama and Daddy, so we sat right in front of the tree and tried our best to be quiet. It wasn’t long though before our parents were entering the living room. They were not mad that we woke them up so early; in fact, I remember groggy smiles on their faces. They let us tear into our gifts right then, even though it was still dark outside. By the time we were finished opening our gifts, the grey light of morning had began to seep in. One of my gifts was a cube-shaped clock radio on which Daddy promptly set the time and told us to go back to bed. “Don’t get up until that clock says ‘eight-oh-oh’,” he said. Time has likely grown the amount of gifts under that tree in my memory bank. It doesn’t matter anyway, the only thing I remember getting that year was the clock.


If you know my Daddy, you know how he likes to play games and trick people—not in a mean way, of course. One year he came up with a game that I thought was really fun. Instead of putting names on the gifts, he put numbers. Not Amy, Mallory, Wesley, nor I knew which gift belonged to whom. He had a list that had which gift number belonged to which of us. We started with the youngest—Wesley. He had to pick a gift he thought would be his. He read Dad the number on the gift. If it was his he got to open it; if it wasn’t his, he had to give to the person it belonged to and she got to open it. I remember Wesley getting upset because he never picked his own gift. And I remember they thought I cheated and looked at the list beforehand, because I picked mine every time. It was so much fun, lots of laughs. I don’t remember what any of those gifts were. I still try to get Daddy to do this game again. One day I will get him to. And I swear that I never saw that list.


Every Christmas since Asia has been born has brought its own memories. She has changed Christmas for me forever. I hope when she is my age that she looks back and has warm memories of Christmas. Even though I am not able to get her every material thing that she asks for I hope that I can still give her wonderful memories, even if it means letting her wrap the presents no matter what they look like when she is finished, or getting icing up to our elbows making a gingerbread house, or taking her to look at Christmas lights when I really don’t need to use the gas, or letting her use that glass mug to drink hot chocolate from.


I think the fact that Christmas is celebrated in dark, cold winter is symbolic. It is a holiday that brings warmth in the cold, light in the darkness, and life to a frozen land just the way God sent Jesus to bring hope to the world in a time when things seemed hopeless. That is what Christmas is about after all. I hope you all have a very merry Christmas and may your light shine into someone else’s life this season.

This Facebook Page Belongs To Lauren Barnett

I would like to apologize to my Facebook friends for putting statuses about things that upset me, or about when I am physically hurting. I am also sorry about being vague when I talk about being in pain. I just didn’t want to fill up people’s news feed with gross details about my ovaries and uterus. I also want to let you know that my Facebook page is not a virtual version of me on uppers. It is a virtual “Lauren” and Lauren is not always happy. There are things that upset me, or make me mad or sad. There are times that I am in physical pain.  Believe it or not, there are people who actually care about me on my friend’s list. They like to know when I am in pain so they can pray for me. They like to know why I am upset so they can give me a pep talk and cheer me up. They like to get on to me when I say something stupid or harsh so they can set me straight. I guess I was stupid enough to think that instead of making assumptions about things I say, people would ask me about it. Nothing I put on my Facebook page is a secret and I think I have avoided any taboos. My intentions are never bad. I don’t try to offend or upset anyone, and in fact, feel bad when I accidentally do. Again, I would like to apologize for ever crushing your soul with my statuses.