ring dem christmas bells
I'm finally catching the Christmas spirit. Or maybe it's just a cold I'm catching ... I'm not sure.On Saturday night, my niece and I took our spot outside one of the local mall entrances, armed with (very loud) bells and very warm hats and mittens. This was our second year volunteering to ring bells for the Salvation Army. I don't know what made me think of volunteering last year, but I signed up and then I thought of asking my niece if she wanted to join me. I thought then that she was quite possibly the coolest 5-year-old around, for being willing to hang out with her boring ol' aunt for a couple hours in the cold Rochester winter. This year I decided she is definitely the coolest 6-year-old in these parts. She lasted the entire three and a half hours, and she stood next to me almost the whole time. A few hours into our shift my mom came with hot chocolate to warm us up, and she brought Sarah one of those folding chairs to sit on. So she did end up sitting for a little while, inside the mall entrance to warm up a bit. But still, she was tough.
And let's face it, she was cute. She was the reason that cologne-soaked teenage boys stopped and rummaged around for dimes and nickels. Her little rosy cheeks tugged on the hearts of shopped-out housewives and desperate young husbands on a quest for the "perfect gift" for their sweetheart. I actually saw a couple people back up and reach for their wallets, after seeing Sarah standing there smiling shyly and ringing the bell to her own rhythm. I am quite sure that the donations doubled or tripled because of the little blonde cutie standing next to me. And I couldn't help but feel the warmth of pride, just for standing next to this little person who could be hanging out on the couch watching Shrek for the 52nd time, but was instead bundled up, standing outside the mall, ringing a bell to "raise money to help people who need it" (her explanation to another little girl of why she was there).
My disgust with the commercialization and consumer-driven approach we take to Christmas didn't stand up too well on Saturday night. Oh sure, I still looked with pity on the harried shoppers stumbling out of the mall with their burdens of bags and boxes and stuff. But I guess that night I saw a glimmer of hope, in the eyes of my niece, but also in the eyes and smiles of people who stopped to put a penny, a quarter, or a dollar in the red kettle.
I think God used Sarah that night to remind these people (and me) that Christmas is about something so much more than buying and buying and making sure to get gift receipts for ease of returning and exchanging. In the face of a child, we're reminded of the hope and joy that Christmas should bring to each of us. The best gift of Christmas, the gift of a baby being born in the squalor and humility of a manger, entering into a world that didn't deserve him and wouldn't welcome him ... this is a gift that can't be wrapped up in pretty paper or adorned with a shiny bow. It's a gift that is best seen in the joy of the heart of one who realizes that there is no better gift to be had.
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