What Is The Real Meaning Of Christmas?
“What?” she asked, glaring at them with furled brows. “You know Christmas isn’t a big deal to me.”
Christmas was approaching, and Eliza, Shelly, Beverly, and Sandra sat around their lunch table after they have finished their meal, talking about their plans.
“I am going all the way for Christmas this year,” Eliza boasted. “Tree, decorations, gifts, food, family, and a few friends, everything is in.”
Shelly and Beverly chimed in, sharing their plans. Sandra’s silence attached itself to them, and they stared at her.
“What?” she asked, glaring at them with furled brows. “You know Christmas isn’t a big deal to me.”
“She doesn’t believe in Santa Claus,” Eliza told.
“Because he isn’t real,” Sandra threw at her.
“But you believe in God,” Eliza teased.
“He is real,” Sandra proclaimed.
“But you can’t see him,” Shelly pushed in.
“No,” Sandra agreed. “But I have felt his presence whenever I need him. I live and witness his blessings and miracles. And no human has or can do the things he had done.”
“You really don’t believe in Santa Claus?” Shelly asked.
“My world is the real one. Santa Claus isn’t a part of it. Neither does the Easter Bunny,” Sandra made known.
“Must be a sorrowful world,” Beverly remarked.
“The real world is never a sad one if you aren’t afraid to face the truth,” Sandra assures them. “It’s packed with truths, honesty, commonsense, balance, and all of the things many humans fear. Myths and lies are accepted by weak minds who are afraid to face reality. I know, reality hurts, but when Christmas is over, the huge bill that faces all of you for your unnecessary spending is REAL!”
I know many people who start the new year facing bankruptcy because they forget the true meaning of Christmas.
Christmas was a happy moment for me as a child. Not because of what Santa Claus is supposed to do. He didn’t exist in my world when I was growing up. Neither did the Easter Bunny. The foods that are only available at that festive season, and the togetherness of family I usually don’t see any other time of the year, was what made me happy.
Jamaica is hot, and we didn’t have chimneys for anyone to come down in. Before we could talk, common sense was instilled in us. We were raised to question many things because we believed that we live in the real world.
I didn’t introduce Santa Claus to any of my children, as he was never introduced to me. Christmas for me as a child was going to church on Christmas morning. We would give thanks to God and celebrate Jesus’s birth. Later, we go to a family member’s house and feast on Jamaican Christmas Cake, which includes raisins, prunes, currants, and cherries that are soaked in wine and white rum for one year. Then baked to deliciousness.
https://www.thrillist.com/eat/nation/what-is-jamaican-black-cake-caribbean-holiday-tradition
We enjoyed Sorrel and many different foods. Sorrel use to be only available at Christmas. It’s around all year now.
https://www.seriouseats.com/jamaican-sorrel-hibiscus-drink
Life goes on after Christmas. For Easter, we observe the forty days of Lent. Avoid meat, eat only fish, and also Jamaica Easter Bun. We go to church on Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Then life goes on until the next one comes around.
Life is real. Our struggles and pain are real. Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny aren’t. I can’t deceive my children. I give to those I care about all year. I adopt economic ways to enjoy Christmas while creating my tradition. I sent out cards and wished everyone the season’s best. Christmas is every day for me because I have something to be grateful for daily.
Christmas is a religious holiday that has gotten out of control. Many have given into Sensationalism when it comes to Christmas, forgetting its meaning.
Bring back the REAL meaning of Christmas.
The dictionary says that Sensationalism is (especially in journalism) the use of exciting or shocking stories or language at the expense of accuracy to provoke public interest or excitement.
My head will be on a stick for saying this. But I think I have a right to be stupid once per year.
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