Have a Merry, Messy Christmas.

There is a gift tucked in this holiday, one you didn’t ask for.

It could be the best gift ever, even though it might not look like it right now.

The truth is, we’re all going to be disappointed this Christmas.

And we should be.

If the true meaning of Christmas is giving, then we all have to give up our perfect plans so we can save the lives of those around us. Yes, even those Scrooges who refuse to get vaccinated (yes, you know who you are, my dear niece and brother-in-law.)

Covid is raging around us, knocking the lights out on every Christmas tree. My grandson had five friends test positive. A dear friend has it, along with her two children. A dear friend just died from it.

All the major hospitals in Cleveland took out a full-page ad in the Sunday Plain Dealer with the word “Help.”

“We need your help. We now have more COVID-19 patients in our hospitals than ever before. And the overwhelming majority are unvaccinated.”

“We need you to care as much as we do.”

They urge people to get all three vaccinations, mask up, wash up and keep a safe social distance.

That’s a tall order if you were looking forward to Midnight Mass or Christmas at gramma’s or flying to Detroit or Miami or going caroling or hosting the annual ugly Christmas sweater party.

Our beloved Cleveland Orchestra Christmas concert was canceled. I just learned I can’t bake cookies with the kids this week. I feel like crying.

And yet, I know better.

We all do.

It’s all good. It’s just not my version of good. Or your version. 

But it is what life is handing us right now. I love the words by author Michael Singer: “The highest life you can live is to serve the moment unfolding in front of you in the highest way possible.”

Not the moment you want, but the moment unfolding. It’s a lot easier to serve it if you don’t judge it as good or bad, wanted or unwanted.

I know, I know, we thought Covid was over. We tossed the masks aside and gathered at parties, went back to restaurants and baseball games and grocery stores and family reunions.  

Then WHAM! 

Covid is raging across America. If you can throw a football and own a Browns jersey, the team will hire you on the spot. The NBA postponed five games. Broadway, which just opened, is shutting down again. 

Every day I get the news that one more person I know has Covid.  

This Christmas, we’re all trying to salvage what we can, but if we all get what we want, we’ll get what we don’t want: More family and friends sick, or worse, dying, and more isolating for months and months to come. 

Still, it’s hard to let go of our vision and version of the “perfect Christmas.” It doesn’t help that nobody in the 125 Hallmark Christmas movies I’ve watched so far has Covid. 

But sometimes the worst Christmas can turn out to be the most meaningful, memorable and magical.

My worst Christmas?

I got hit by a car one Christmas Eve with my sister when we were on our way to visit a friend in hospice.

I had slowed down on the highway after seeing brake lights when a little voice inside, or maybe a little Christmas angel, said, "Look up."

In the rear view mirror I saw a car barreling toward us. The car slammed into us at 45 mph. The driver never braked. We both skidded across the highway. It was a Christmas miracle no one was coming in the other lane, and that no one was hurt, just our cars.

The next day, Christmas, my husband was still in bed recovering and the grandkids needed naps, so they didn't come over until late in the day.

And I had my mom all day. A sibling who had offered to help with her changed plans. If you love a parent with Alzheimer's, you know that sometimes it's a joy to be around them and sometimes, well, you know.

Halfway through Christmas I sat down alone and cried. This wasn't how Christmas was supposed to be.

Oh, it got worse. My sister ended up in the emergency room after experiencing symptoms of a concussion from our car crash.

So I did the best I could. I did what my Mom did with us when we were kids. We played Christmas carols. We watched "White Christmas," "It's a wonderful Life" and "Miracle on 34th Street." She soaked up the twinkle lights on the tree, and the crackle of the fire and raved about how it was the best Christmas ever.

 We didn't know it would be her last Christmas ever.

And she spent it with me.

Me. It makes me cry every time I think about it.

Christmas can be messy. Maybe it’s supposed to be.

The first Christmas ever was a total mess. We glorify it now, set out our mother-of-pearl manger set with the holy family, the sheep and the cows. But seriously, what mother wants to bring her firstborn into that mess?

The Christmas carols tidy it up and claim, “no crying he makes.” Surely that baby wailed and fussed and Mary’s nipples grew sore trying to feed him and Joseph bruised his knees hitting them so often praying, “God, Why me? Why on earth did you pick me? I blew it. You give me the Son of God and this is how I provide for him?”

Oh, if we could be a fly on the wall that first Christmas, and there were surely  many flies, what with the manure from the animals and the stench of those unwashed shepherds.

We’d hear the angel announce, “Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.”

Even the unvaccinated?

Even them.

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.”

And a heavenly host of others --- maybe us right now – maybe we could still praise God, and sing, “Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth, peace, goodwill toward all.”

All. Yep, even the unvaccinated.

This year, whatever happens on Christmas, or whatever doesn't happen, it will be the perfect gift.

We just have to open up the manger that is our heart so we can receive it.