Oh Christmas.

How have I let it come to this?

I, who am fully aware of your true meaning, of the beauty and simplicity in the small things, the wonder and magic and warmth of the season. I who knows full well that I need nothing more than what I already have and that I need not give trinkets and uselessness to my loved ones..I have found myself in a bedroom that has become a glorified closet for UPS and FedEx boxes.

And this isn’t even all of it. There are hidden boxes in closets, in the shed, in the trunk of our car, out on trucks for delivery, yet to arrive at my doorstep.

Oh, Christmas. Please forgive me this day and my daily trip to Groupon, GroopDealz or Amazon.com.

And for my kitchen, Oh, Christmas, I repent.

Forgive me the cookies. The chocolate covered pretzels. The fudge.

Not pictured here, fudge in three varieties and chocolate covered peanut butter balls. (Also not pictured here, my sanity.)

Oh, Christmas.

Christ. Mas.

That’s right. Somewhere in my brain, the word breaks apart like something from my high school Intro to Spanish class. And though it’s not proper and not at all what the word means on paper, it’s what I know it ought to mean in my heart.

More. Christ.

And so this morning, as more packages arrive and as I dip more cookies in chocolate, this is my prayer for the season. More Christ.

More Christ in my kitchen. More blessings prayed over the cookies as I tie them in bags and pack them in boxes. More Christ as I greet the delivery drivers, as I unpack boxes and wrap the small things. The unnecessary things.

More Christ as I make room for the necessary, the fulfilling, the soul satisfying things of the season.

More quiet moments and more prayer. More giving and less buying. More spending of time and less of money. More, Christ.

Christ. Mas.

Oh, Christmas.

I almost lost you there for a minute.