Advent IV: The Wild Rumpus

As Advent makes its final approach and Christmas comes into view, I feel like the main character in Maurice Sendack’s classic, Where the Wild things Are, who lifts his hand and declares, “And now,” cried Max, “Let the wild rumpus start!” The tree is up and decorated, presents bought, and the annual traditions of the final days are all scheduled and ready to go. It’s time to buckle up and enjoy the rumpus with all its twists and turns.

I loved Christmas as a child, but enjoying it as an adult has become a challenge. As I have thought about reasons why, I think that the fundamental reason it has become a struggle is the way I handle the twists and turns, or as Max would say, the rumpus. I always think the season will be magical, that everyone will be happy, say kind things, and celebrate their gifts. I think people will all come on time, add to the lively conversation, and sing the carols unreservedly. 

But the twists and turns always arrive. Uncle Billy drinks too much, Mrs. Stimpson can’t stop talking about her late husband’s tragic death at 94, and the children look for the next gift before the paper from the last one hits the floor. I cling to what I can in hopes of having a merry Christmas, but its hard to feel Christmas when you hands a clinched.

I have come to see my problem lies in thinking Christmas is something I create, I orchestrate, I control. I stand like a conductor expecting all the musicians to play their parts perfectly, and it never happens that way. Rather than bemoan that fact, I need to let Christmas come as it will. I need to open my clenched fists so I can receive the wild, uncontrollable gift it is. Better to let Christmas be whatever it will be, instead of trying to control it. I need to raise my hands and cry out with the hope and joy that lies deep within me: let the wild rumpus start.