Letting Christmas In.

People get into Christmas in a variety of ways. Maybe by decorating a home, sending Christmas cards, or observing age-old traditions, but an interesting twist is to ask not how you get into Christmas, but how Christmas gets into you?

The question came to me after running into a friend who I’d not seen in years. I rushed over to greet him after church, and noticed he was unfolding a white cane with a red tip. Despite my enthusiastic greeting, he asked “who’s that?” An eye disease had taken his sight, and I’ve thought about him ever since. Sitting in our den listening to beloved Christmas music by a fire with scented candle nearby, I couldn’t help but think about the gift of sight, and the gift of all our senses, and how they allow Christmas to enter our souls.

Through my eyes, I see a tree with tiny white lights and ornaments made by our children over the years. Driving through town, I see stores decorated, and wreaths hanging from lampposts. I see snow falling, as if on cue, and notice the delight on my daughter’s face as we watch a favorite Christmas movie. If I only had my eyes, it would be enough to know Christmas.

Through my ears, I hear music unique to this time of year (never before Thanksgiving, thank you very much). Traditional and popular, the melodies and words cause my eyes to water like no other. I hear the bells ringing outside selected stores, and hear cries of "Merry Christmas" above the traffic, and notice people greeting one another with new-found enthusiasm and sincerity.

Through my nose, smells can pull me toward the magic of Christmas. Candles strategically placed throughout the house, and food cooking in the other room all lure me into the season each year. (Even brownies smell seasonal at this time of year.) The smell of a real fire makes me what to cook chestnuts, even though I have no idea how one does such a thing.

Through my mouth, Christmas has an easy route within, both literally and figuratively. Treats line the counter and break-room table. Meals become eucharistic. Even the local grocery store plays along by offering peppermint ice cream for a limited time. (Try it with hot fudge, or magic shell chocolate sauce).

My hands, and the rest of my body, get in on the act as well. I reach out and touch the Christmas tree needles, bend over, make a snowball, and throw it before holding my hands up to my mouth for much-needed warm breadth. I reach out an touch a friend’s mole hair sweater that’s simply irresistible, and pull a handmade scarf knitted by a friend who recently died tightly around my neck. I tend to hold hands and hug more at Christmas.

Like a master teacher I know who teaches through all her students’ senses, Christmas surrounds us and longs to come inside . . . if we have eyes to see, ears to hear, noses to smell, mouths to taste, and hands to touch.