Sarah Nigbor

When I was a child, Christmas was the most magical time of year. I remember sitting in church throughout December, watching the Advent candle being lit and singing familiar tunes, such as “The First Noel” or “Joy to the World.” The anticipation was palpable. I could barely contain my excitement thinking of Santa tiptoeing through the house, leaving presents under the tree. My grandpa always teased me that he was going to catch Santa and trap him in the garage. Somehow Santa escaped him each year, much to my dismay.

I would sit at my bedroom window, staring through the cold, starry night at the barn on Christmas Eve, hoping for a glimpse of Santa’s sleigh or the animals kneeling in honor of Jesus’ birth at midnight (a myth my mother told me.) I was convinced the cattle and barn cats would kneel and be able to speak at midnight, but I never got to see it. I still think they do.

As a mother with children of my own, I still love Christmas but unfortunately it has become more stressful than magical as an adult. Making things magical and fun for others is daunting. Figuring out what to buy four children ages 12-17 who are at those lovable ages of being picky beyond belief and wondering how to afford it all; trying to work around Christmas concerts, plays, 4-H and church events; trying to figure out how to fit everything in when time is already so rare, such as decorating the house, holiday baking, visiting relatives, buying and wrapping presents, finding a new spot every day for the darn Elf on a Shelf (who is still haunting me even though the kids know he doesn’t report to the North Pole; they just like the hide and seek game), and making sure everything is festive and sparkly and magical and fun when all I want is a nap. Now I know why the adults always seemed so tired around Christmas when I was bouncing off the walls like a ping pong ball of energy.

This year will be especially different because my mother is living in a care center. She is normally the head elf of festive fun, baking hundreds of cookies, buying a ridiculous amount of presents for the kids and us and reminding us to watch the Christmas specials on TV. Instead of getting ready for the holidays December has been spent trying to figure out care options, Medicare plans and the best path going forward, none of which seem ideal yet are necessary. There have been tears (both hers and mine), frustration and fear. Honestly, I haven’t been much in the Christmas spirit this year. I have felt exhausted, sad and overwhelmed.

However, a spark of magic happened on Sunday when I didn’t expect it. My daughter and I attended “The Best Christmas Pageant Ever” at the Spring Valley Stagehands Theatre (highly recommend, by the way). As I sat in the darkened historic theatre, watching the timeless Christmas classic performed by area youth, a small flame of hope appeared inside. It continued to grow throughout the show, as I was transported back to a time when things weren’t so hard, the stress wasn’t so crushing and the worst thing I had to worry about was getting clothes for Christmas. Along with Imogene Herdman, I remembered the true meaning of Christmas. It’s not the glitz and glam, parties and presents. It’s the celebration of Jesus’ birth, who walks beside us in this difficult life.

As the pageant concluded and the entire audience sang a Christmas carol with the cast, I felt the old magic reappear. As I looked around and listened to the chorus of voices, my heart felt like it was about to burst. At that moment, everything felt absolutely right with the world, like everything was going to be okay. And it will. Even if I haven’t started Christmas shopping yet.