Editorial December 25, 1995 Issue

My Christmas card

Heloisa G. Rivas

The scene outside my window looked just like a Christmas card. Snow covered the streets in Boston with a white carpet, muffling all sounds, and the trees glittered with ice. I sat at my desk to write a Christmas card to my family in Brazil. The picture on my card matched the scene I was looking at. Yet I knew that my best wishes for a joyous holiday season would be delivered just around the first days of a hot summer in the Southern Hemisphere. There would be no snow, no pine branches covered with glittery ice-crystals, no cozy fireplace with a burning log.

What did I mean, sending a snowy picture to wish them "Merry Christmas?" What did I want them to feel? I suddenly realized that many of the images associated with the Christmas season have nothing to do with what I wanted to impart on that card.

What really mattered was not a desire to make myself remembered, and my intention was not merely to send them my love or wish them a happy, festive season. What I really wanted them to feel was a sense of reverence and wonder at the most important celebration of the year for those who follow the teachings of Christ Jesus.

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