Not gonna lie...my least favorite, most dreaded task that must be performed on an annual basis is boxing up Christmas.
Denuding the tree, wrapping lights, boxing up the ornaments, squishing the tree back into the storage bins, sweeping up shed needles (even with an almost 30 year old fake tree...there are still shed needles...), cocooning the porcelain nativity...all the necessary stuff to transform the house back to its ordinary self.
Some years, I don't even want to get it out, set it up, hang it, drape it...because I don't want to have to take it all down in just a few weeks. Which always go by at the speed of light, usually without anyone outside of the family even seeing the festoonery.
But something occurred to me about the un-decorating task that I haven't really thought of before.
It's the UNdecorating, the reboxing and re-storing of all the Christmas trimmings that makes them special. If they were up all year, why, we would soon get to a place where we didn't even see them anymore. Getting them out is always a treat, preparing for the holiday. It's something of a celebration of Christmases past to pull out the ornaments and decorations that we've accumulated over the years, or those that we've had since our first Christmas together...even some that are older, like my half-dozen faded and cracking small Shiney Brites that once hung on my grandma's tree.
But that celebration isn't what MAKES them special. It's the fact that we do put them away when the holiday is over..the careful wrapping, boxing, packing and storing that keeps it all nice for the next season. That is the honor that makes all of it set apart for something special.
It's...like the rest in a line of music, or the white space on a painting. The contrast space that keeps everything from just running together into a dingy hodge podge.
And, you know, that is the definition of Holy. Set apart. Special. Not ordinary.
Kind of an interesting line of thought that the thing I like doing the least is the very thing that imparts holiness to the decor of the season.
What if those tasks I dislike in general are also about imparting holiness? Elevating something above the ordinary?
What if I set about them as if they were acts that impart honor instead of just drudgery that needs to be done?
What if I changed my whole paradigm?
Could I really do it? I mean, am I capable of that much shifting?
I don't know. But maybe I should give it a try.
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