It was a beat up door in a run down part of town. Most of the neighborhood looked like it was peopled by those who gave up on life a long time ago.
There’s not much chance of finding small touches in a place that has already abandoned the big picture.
But there it was, on that weathered door, a sign of perseverance in the face of poverty and unemployment and hopelessness.
It was a tattered picture of a grinning Santa Claus, and the words Happy Holidays.
It was the Christmas spirit, hanging on by the fingernails.
I know that feeling. A few days off over Thanksgiving were quickly sucked up by work around the house like snow blowing and hauling decorations from the attic.
A quick look at the calendar shows the growing bustle of the season, many of the circled appearances based more on what we should do rather than what we want to do.
Then there is the shopping to consider, and the afternoons playing chauffeur to the schedules of children.
It’s work hard during the week and run hard all weekend and then do it all over again starting Monday morning, millions of harried mice on some giant Christmas wheel.
And why is it that we have to do all the traveling again this year?
But just like that small beacon of hope standing defiant against the elements and the blight, so too burns in me the small glowing ember of the season as it should be.
There’s the look on the kids’ faces the first time they saw Polar Express.
There’s the smell of the kitchen after my wife’s yearly Christmas Cookie Bake-athon hits high gear.
There’s the memory of the house at night, dead still, no TV or phone or computer, nothing on at all except the Christmas lights.
Peace on Earth, indeed.
We must strive, you and I, to keep that spirit alive this season, no matter how tentative the grip.
We must encourage what is memorable about the holidays while endeavoring to clear the clutter that seeks to overwhelm and commercialize and trivialize.
We owe it to the kids to create those images that will foster the warm memories that will last a lifetime.
The truth is, we it owe it to ourselves, too.