It could've gone either way

While on our way to celebrate Christmas with my in-laws:

Meredith: I think the more time people spend with my parents, the more credit I should be given for turning out normal.

Me: Yeah, that's certainly a Christmas miracle.

Merry F@#$in' Christmas!

I have to admit it gets harder and harder for me to get into the Christmas spirit, and this year I'm finding it next to impossible. Over commercialization of the season is unfortunately an all too easy explanation. It certainly plays a role, and perhaps I've seen too many Charlie Brown Christmas specials, but it goes beyond that. Case in point, I refuse to play Christmas music at work. I flat out refuse. The main reason is that our Christmas collection at the coffee shop consists of Barry Manilow and "A Very Salsa Christmas." I've seen my share of impatient customers this season; I'd hate to escalate the situation by subjecting them to bad music.

I guess the main thing I'm having trouble with is figuring out what the point of all of this really is. To say that "Jesus is the reason for the season" is at best an after thought. If we were honest with ourselves, thinking of Christmas likely brings to mind spending time with family, friends, gifts, and Jesus is mixed in there somewhere. If we were really honest, thinking about Christmas brings to mind traffic jams, long lines, short tempers, and obligation. And unfortunately, that's where I am. Finding Jesus in the midst of all of that is tricky. I have to believe there's more. There's more to Christmas than being sucked into the commercialization, the entitlement, and the stress. Some people are so busy declaring and fighting in the War on Christmas that they completely miss the point: the spirit of Christmas is best found in a bottle of spirits. Screw Kris Kringle. Santa's alter-ego is Jim Beam.

This is a shortened version a story called "Christmas Eve" by Paul O'Neill. The full version can be found here. In a season where meaning is watered down or missing completely, this narrative captures the essence of what's missing for me.

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It was Christmas Eve and the Lord looked down from above at all His children. It had been nearly two thousand years since the birth of His son and turning to His youngest angel the Lord said: "Go down to the earth and bring back to me the one thing that best represents everything good that has been done in the name of this day."

The Angel bowed to the Lord and spreading his wings, descended from heaven to the world of man, all the while contemplating his mission. As he soared above the earth, he suddenly heard the sound of church bells below. Their tone was so beautiful that it reminded him of the voice of God.

But, though at first glance it appeared to be the answer he sought, his heart told him that this music was not enough. There had to be something more. So, he continued his flight through the night until he suddenly felt the touch of a father's prayer on its way to heaven. Once again looking downward, he saw a man who was praying for his child whom he had not heard from in a long time and who would not be home that Christmas. Seizing upon the prayer, the Angel followed it until it reached the lost child.

She was standing on a corner, in a quiet snowfall, looking very small in a very large city. Across from her was on old city bar, the kind that only the lost seemed to know how to find.

The patrons of this establishment rarely looked up from their drinks and so seemed not to notice the young woman. Now, the bartender in this bar had been working in there longer than anyone could remember. He believed in nothing except his bar and his cash register. He gave no credit and for seventy-five cents, served shots of un-watered whiskey to people who used their drinks like a moat around their lives. For them, he provided a safe, unchanging world. Suddenly, the door opened wide and into this world walked a small child. The bartender could not remember the last time that a child had been in this place, but before he could ask the child what he was doing there, the child asked him if he knew that there was a girl outside their door who could not get home. Glancing out the window, he saw the girl standing across the street. Turning back to the child, the bartender asked him how he knew this. The child replied: "That on this night of all nights, if one could be home, they'd be already there. "The bartender looked back toward the young woman as he reflected on what the child had said. After several seconds of thought, he slowly went over to the cash register and removing most of the money, came out from behind the bar and followed the child across the street.

Everyone in the bar watched as he spoke with the girl. After a few moments, he called over a cab, put the girl inside and told the driver: "J.F.K. Airport." As the cab pulled away, he looked around for the child, but the child was gone. Returning back inside, he asked if anyone had seen where the child had gone, but like himself, no one had, for they also had been watching the departing cab.

The Angel returned back to heaven and placed in the Lord's hand, the wish of a soul for the happiness of another. And as the heavenly host looked on, the Lord smiled.
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The wish of a soul for the happiness of another. A novel concept, indeed.

Filling in the gaps

It was recently brought to my attention that between here and here, I failed to connect the dots.

So here's what happened: after God took a shit on my life, I decided to apply for a master's program in counseling and I was accepted. I am currently finishing my first semester.

I apologize for any emotional duress not having this vital piece of information may have caused.

Flashbacks

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Uhh...You alright man?"

"NO! IT'S COLD AS SHIT OUT THERE!"

"Can I help you with something?"

"CAN I SPEAK WITH THE OWNER?!"

He walked into the coffee shop yesterday and was obviously not having a good day. All he had was a sweatshirt to keep warm and it was clear he had recently been in a fight, given the fresh bruise under his right eye. I stood close by as he talked with my boss, giving her the rundown of why he was down on his luck, didn't have any money and why she should give him some money.

But I couldn't think about that because, in that moment I was no longer a barista in a coffee shop. I was back at the hospital and shit was about to go down. He had that enraged, wild look in his eye that lends itself to a volatility I've seen before. I could feel the fight-or-flight response course through my body.

The reason why I'm still reeling from the effects of this is because...well, it brought some things back to me that I wasn't expecting. But also, I'm so perplexed by my reaction to it. I could've tried to handle the situation myself, but instead I passed it off to my boss. I could've given him the money out of the tip jar, but instead he left with the $8 my boss had in her purse.

And it boils down to the fact that I couldn't look at him with love and compassion because I was too busy being afraid of him.