The Leap from Halloween to Christmas:

The month of November is a momentous time - a time in which parents grapple with a trifecta of arduous realities: that blessed event known as the “End of Daylight Savings,” in which children forget to observe any normalcy of sleep they might have possibly acquired (We literally were woken, one morning at six, to a hysterical three-year-old attesting that the five-year-old had bitten him); the aftermath of Trick-or-Treat confectionary indulgence (If I find another Kit-Kat wrapper hidden behind a toilet or turn the corner to see my kindergartener with a king-size Baby Ruth in his mouth, I might just turn in my two weeks’ notice); and the full-throttle commencement of the sickness season (We just emerged from the depths of an aggressive stomach virus, which took down all fourteen of us with a brutality I have rarely encountered; I kid you not, at one point, four children were vomiting simultaneously). Interestingly, November is also a time in which our modern culture jettisons from the heights of Halloween revelry straight into boisterous joy of the “Christmas” season, completely eclipsing both Thanksgiving and the Liturgical season of Advent in the process. It never ceases to boggle my sensibilities to see rotting Jack-o-Lanterns flanked by giant inflatable Santa Clauses or Snowmen, but I think this phenomenon points to a deeper reality within our societal consciousness: our collective inability to patiently abide difficulty, deprivation, or even delayed gratification.

Our society struggles with suffering. This isn’t something entirely unique to modern culture, of course - after all, man has been railing against the reality of pain for time immemorial - but modern man, with a plethora of conveniences and pleasures at his disposal, seems especially ill-equipped to contend with the trials and tribulations inherent to human existence. We are so accustomed to living in a state of ease that we balk at any interruption to this peace. In our world, expensive coffees, electronic devices, and entertainments galore rule the day, and the idea of foregoing any of these luxuries (modern day essentials?) seems a gross injustice upon our freedom and happiness. Is it a wonder that we propel ourselves from one celebration to the next - happily skirting any season that prompts serious reflection or contemplation? Is it surprising that we would leap from the self-indulgence of Halloween revelries to the jubilation of Christmas festivities, without significant pause for a holiday centered on gratitude?

Our disdain for suffering is directly related to our growing sense of ingratitude. How so? Perhaps because the absence of a good - such as health, leisure, prosperity, and so forth - reminds our frail human sensibilities - so susceptible to complacency - of the great worth of that particular gift. These blessings are not owed to us, and we can easily be deprived of them; therefore, their very presence in our lives should give us pause - a pause of immense gratitude. Yet, because these blessings surround us now (to an extent never before known), and also as they are so readily obtained, we have come to expect them, rather than revere them. We have become desensitized to their presence, because we are rarely deprived of them. Furthermore, we have come to eschew suffering, since our palate is only accustomed to that which pleases our personal sensibilities. But whether it pleases us or not, thankfulness appears fundamentally linked to suffering.

Never does the taste of water feel so satisfying than to the parched mouth; never does a loved one’s embrace fill one with such joy as after a long absence. When I consider the moments in my life that have been marked by a spirit of sincere gratitude, I realize that many of these periods are also laced with a certain degree of suffering and pain. Some of my most palpable moments of gratitude have followed the birth of my children. Out of the agonies of labor, out of the pain of birth, after months of nausea and heartburn, worry and fatigue, that blessed deliverance from physical turmoil - when a child emerges from my body - borders on miraculous. That mystical threshold between physical torment and ecstasy is shockingly powerful. But that engulfing wave of utter gratitude seems improbable, or somehow lessened, if the pain had not first been experienced.

Paradoxically, it is the existence of pain and trial that actually makes the joy so wonderfully sweet. I recall my honeymoon. It was a glorious experience enjoying a lush, tropical paradise. I was overjoyed to be there, of course, and certainly thankful, but my appreciation for that trip paled in comparison to how I felt when, ten years into our marriage, my husband and I were able to return to where we first celebrated our married life. As a new bride, untested by the difficulties inherent to building a life together and raising a crew of boisterous children, I could not fully appreciate that gift of time and tranquility I shared with my love at the outset of our marriage, however, after ten years of joy coupled with many ordinary frustrations, disappointments, and heartaches, as well as an unsurprising amount of cacophony and chaos natural to life with children, this anniversary vacation felt like heavenly balm. I still vividly remember floating in the crystalline ocean water and staring up into the immense blue expanse above me, exhaling a “Thank you, God” that came from the very fiber of my being.

Years ago, I had the privilege to attend Hillsdale College. There is so much I appreciate and cherish about my Alma Mater, but one of my most valued lessons from my time there was the College’s insistence that hard things are worth the struggle. This mindset, though diametrically opposed to modern sensibilities, permeated Hillsdale’s culture. Everything from the rigorous course of study to the scholarly community’s collective pursuit of Truth, regardless of the cost to personal fulfillment or autonomy (veritable idols of contemporary society), underscored the position that hard things can - and should - be undertaken. The College’s motto, “Virtus tentamine gaudet,” (Strength rejoices in the challenge) reminds us of the significance and the joy which can only be discovered by persevering through the sorrow, and though I am many years past college graduation, this acknowledgment still informs my soul and instructs my heart. In moments when I feel ready to abandon duty for ease, or sacrificial service for personal desire, I try to reflect on how suffering not only possesses the ability to shape and perfect us, but also provides a pathway toward joy - the authentic joy that lingers beyond the gratification of fleeting desires and creates a life brimming with gratitude. The complexity and depth of this happiness can only be discovered through experiencing its opposite, and the more penetratingly we understand deprivation and difficulty, the more perfectly we perceive the worth and cost of beautiful things. The counsel of Saint John of the Cross, a sixteenth century Spanish Carmelite friar and Doctor of the Church, affirms this: “The purest suffering bears and carries in its train the purest understanding.”

It is quite possible that many of us failed to truly appreciate the celebration of Thanksgiving, but as we progress through Advent, how can we recapture our lost understanding of gratitude? To me, the answer seems two-fold: first, we must break away from the continual hubbub of frantic modern living, by conscientiously carving out more time for silence and reflection - a calling back of the mind from the anxieties, cares, and distractions that plague us to an appreciation for the gifts we have already been graciously given, and which we too often fail to perceive in the frenzy; and second, we must be willing to forsake ourselves and our preferences for others, and we best learn to do that by finding moments each day to bend our wills to something - really, Someone - greater. As distasteful as it might seem to our modern worldview, that means foregoing some “goods”: being less focused on obtaining the “perfect” material gift, and more intentionally cultivating relationships by sharing ourselves and our presence; allowing for more reflection by setting down devices and eliminating the extraneous to increase thoughtfulness and wonder; inviting moments of self-sacrifice by not getting swept away by our own individual versions of perfection and learning to be joyful even as we suffer through disappointment, trial, or loss. It seems paradoxical, but each time we choose to delay our own gratification, we increase our capacity for future joy, because we have permitted ourselves to feel its absence; each time we detach from the things that only appear essential, we heighten our awareness of what truly is. So let us sit with silence, let us embrace the struggle…let us perceive the gift by understanding its cost.