New Eyes for Old Things

It happens every Christmas. I drag box after box of holiday decor out from the storage closet under our stairs and take inventory of the contents. I begin sifting through each bin with a discerning eye to determine what to keep, what to toss, and what has run its course and is destined for the donate pile. Inevitably I come across a faded throw pillow, a stained kitchen towel, figurines that are cracked, tarnished candlesticks, books with broken binding or a stuffed animal ripping at the seams and I instinctively reach for my phone to look up a replacement. It seems counter-cultural to be sentimental these days. We’re tempted to be quick to purge and even quicker to update older, worn out decor. Every retail ad boasts new inventory, trends and color schemes, claiming there’s nothing we need more this holiday than a fresh, new look.

I’m not one to hang on to things past their prime. My kids often accuse me of donating or selling things they weren’t quite done with. I routinely go through our closets and cabinets itching to declutter. I don’t see the point in saving things that no longer serve a purpose or that the kids have outgrown, just for sentimental value. Eleven months out of the year I replace and renew without a second thought. But something changes at Christmas time. I find myself savoring the sentiment more than usual. Maybe it’s because I’ve reached the point where I can count the years I have left with my kids at home on less than ten fingers. I see young mamas at the store, struggling to corral their little ones in the shopping cart or waiting in line to visit Santa and my heart aches. I think of the “cookies for Santa” plate, our Elf on the Shelf, the Disney holiday sing-a-long dvds, and the Christmas board books, all long gone; passed along, donated or loved beyond recognition over the years, and I want to hold on a bit longer.

I savor the handmade ornaments from their preschool years and the yellowed pages of their favorite Christmas stories. When an ornament breaks, I reach for the hot glue gun before heading to the garbage bin. Certain pieces of my nativity set have seen better days, but I won’t dare cast them aside. I will graft broken appendages and angle them just so before I ever seek to replace them. Our holiday tablecloth began as an enormous blank coloring page and over the years the pictures have been filled in with bright, festive artwork by friends and family. Each picture is signed and dated, evidencing cherished memories of past gatherings. It’s a bit weathered and faded now, but it continues to bring us joy year after year. Every December as I pull articles, familiar and worn, from the bins, the Lord gives me new eyes for old things.

As a little girl my favorite part of Christmas was the unpacking of all my favorite holiday items: The Nutcracker Ballet book my mom gave me when I was four, the wooden nativity set with real straw to scatter around the stable floor, and the Weihnachtspyramide (German for a wooden Christmas nativity “pyramid” that carousels by candlelight). I looked forward to the return of all these things every year, but my favorite of all was the sleigh bells.

I’m not sure of their origin, but every Christmas as far back as I can remember, we hung a rustic leather strap of brass sleigh bells from the doorknob of our home. Their melodious jingle told of everyone’s coming and going all season long. To me, it was the sound of Christmas. When I was grown and moved into my first apartment, my parents were gracious enough to pass on some of their Christmas decor to help deck my new halls. I took a trio of miniature wooden reindeer, my Nutcracker ballet book, and the sleigh bells, among a few other things. I’m so grateful to have never known a Christmas without those bells on my door. I hope they last for another generation or two. Maybe my grandchildren will hear sleigh bells and think of my home, the way a Weihnachtspyramide reminds me of my Oma and Opa’s home at Christmas time.

My children may not want the bells when they move out, but that’s okay. They each have their favorite Christmas items, things that make them giddy with excitement when they see me pull them from the boxes. It surprises me that after all these years, at ages ten and fourteen, their eyes light up when they see their treasured reindeer plush or children’s books. They have new eyes for old things, and that’s the heartbeat of Christmas, isn’t it? Oh that we would still look upon the story of Jesus’ birth with fresh wonder and renewed faith each year.

For those of us who grew up in church, the nativity story may seem outdated, dull, overdone even. The star over Bethlehem has lost its luster and the gifts of the Magi no longer seem shiny and new. We can sing the carols we’ve grown up hearing without truly dwelling on the words. Christmas has become anything but wondrous and holy; it’s become routine. If we’re not careful we can start looking for the joy and hope of Christmas elsewhere. Our attention is drawn to newer, shinier things the world has to offer. We seek Christmas in presents, pageants, parties and performances. We reinvent it with new decor, bigger lights, talked-about recipes and the latest social media trend. We lose sight of tradition and sentiment, forgetting there was nothing shiny about the first Christmas. Jesus didn’t arrive with pomp and circumstance. His beginning was humble, in a worn stable behind an inn, in a manger filled with hay. It may have occurred over two thousand years ago, but may the story never get old.

The familiarity of Jesus’ birth is precisely what makes it special. God came to dwell among us, the least of us, the lowly and the meek. Unlike holiday trends and fashions, His story never varies. We can hold fast to it when everything around us is changing. Our children grow older, our wish lists change, our holidays look a bit different from year to year and our traditions adjust and adapt like shifting shadows, but our God does not (James 1:17). In a world that moves at lightening speed and thrives on pursuing the latest and greatest, let’s ask God to give us new eyes for old things, and thank Him for His steadfast love that came down one holy night to save us all.

My husband just arrived home from work. The sleigh balls on the door jingled in welcome and our dog, Sugar, ran to greet him in the kitchen. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We will attend church, sing timeless carols by candlelight and praise God for the familiarity, tried and true, of the nativity. We’ll remember that it’s not just a story, it’s a living, breathing testimony of His love. It’s as alive today as it’s ever been.