“If you don’t listen to Mommy then Santa Claus is not going to come to our house!”

My six year old was mad. His younger brother, age three, was not eating his breakfast. Then it was time for shoes and socks and school backpacks. The three year old was not having any of that either. Going potty before we left? Nope. Not happening. My six year old, already all buttoned up in his jacket with his hat on, ready to go, sensed my exasperation. And in typical first-born fashion, took matters into his own hands. He threatened Santa Claus.

I grimaced as he said those words. First because I realized that he had not come up with them on his own, that he’s heard them from me, from the television, from books, from grandparents. The other day a bagger at our grocer told them to “be good so Santa will come.” Mostly, though, I winced because I know I have used this threat.

Here’s why. It works.

Within 30 seconds my three year old was scrambling, eyes all wide and crazy, sort of darting all over to see which task he should tackle first. I looked over at my oldest who glanced back at me with a smart, accomplished sort of smile. As if to say, “see mama, I’ll show you how it is done.”

Parenting is so often about bribery. I curse at myself for letting this happen. When my children were born I had dreams of grandeur whereby my little angels would do every task because they saw the merit in picking up toys or wearing clean underwear. That they would be self-motivated, looking for the best opportunities and making the right choices because I somehow pressed the perfect moral agenda on their malleable little hearts.

But now, six years and three kids later it goes something like this:

“Knock it off or I am taking it away!”

Yes, this is my mantra.

“Stop hitting or you go to time out.”

“Eat all your vegetables and you get a cookie.”

“Clean up those toys or you won’t get anymore.”

“Say you’re sorry or you can stop playing.”

And of course, “Santa will find out if you keep that up.”

Of course all this chatter about Santa Claus is rather superfluous and useless really, but it reveals this gaping hole in the way we view Christmas and life in general. A view that says do good and you will get rewarded.

Study harder, achieve more, get promoted, get a raise, get an advanced degree and get the extra letters behind your name. Do your homework and get the A. Parents with younger kids know this routine well. Use the toilet and get a treat. Heck, dogs know the drill. Roll over and get a treat.

We live our lives in a phenomenally conditional manner. Everyday involves some sort of decision matrix that has us computing the reward for XYZ behavior. So when it comes to Christmas, and to the true heart of giving during this season and beyond, it makes sense that we would begin to look many of our opportunities as a way to both get and receive. That we might, if we are not careful, think about what a person has done to receive our gift or our act of charity.

My six year old reminding his brother of the conditions that lie within Christmas has unsettled my heart this month. I’ve been reminded of what it means to give purely. Miroslav Volf, talks about this in his book Free of Charge. He says for us, giving can be so conditional that we struggle to give freely. What does it mean to simply give to another without any hope of a response. Even a gentle “thank you” from a person in need, or a grunt of acknowledgement from a half-asleep homeless person at a shelter.

Or, how many times do we hear the grumbles of those who have decided NOT to give charitably because they simply did not like the particular demographic on the receiving end. That “those people should have known better, planned better, saved more, or thought more about what they were doing.” “I’m not giving to them” they quip. “They don’t deserve it.”

There is, sadly, a part of my dark selfish little soul that wants to be thanked. Which means that there is a part of me that wants to play Santa Claus. But really, who am I to fill those boots? I’m as needy as the next person and I pray that I’m not expected to perform for my gifts or even act remotely deserving.

No need to linger for the “hey thanks,” or give only if someone seems like they have done something to deserve my help. This makes it all conditional once again. As if they have to do something for my Santa Claus-ness to kick in. No need for anymore of that. After all, none of it is mine to give anyway. All I have is because someone was gracious and open handed with me, undeserving and messy as I am, and they did not expect a thing in return. No conditions.

It’s time to haul out the Christmas lights and stockings, Advent calendars, and odd shaped Santa pillows from grandparents.

Every year I sort of dread dragging all the chaos out of the basement. I wince at how large the bins have become and am afraid that I may find candy or some other randomly gross food item in the bin from last year. This year I found a melted chocolate Santa in the bottom of a stocking. Delicious.

As I groan and grunt, wondering if this might be the year we do not decorate for Christmas, I find all the anxiety dissipates as I lift the lid on the first bin of Christmas decorations. My children, who just moments ago moaned and whined at the mere suggestion we haul all the Christmas stuff out, are now standing around the bin with wide eyes.

“Whoa” they say. “I remember that!”

Now my kids have short memories. At ages 2, 3 and 6, there is not much they can remember.

But still, the magic of dragging dusty angels and ornaments that predate their own mother out of boxes is awe-inspiring nonetheless.

So we pull out half-melted candles, home made ornaments, dented cookie tins, and strands of lights that may or may not work. It’s all a pile of junk to someone else. But to us, it is our Christmas treasure. A stuffed snowman and dog decoration that barks jingle bells when you push the snow man’s mitten. Ornaments that rest all year in yellowed boxes from now-defunct department stores, only to rise up and greet us for the month of December.

My own mom still hangs the stocking on her mantle that I received when I was just one year old. I was born on Christmas Day so it was a birthday present I am told. It is a slender red stocking with a puff of white trim on the top. Each side is decorated with sequins. A snowman face, a santa claus, and a Christmas tree.

For 30+ years my mother has stuffed this stocking with odd accoutrements like gum, chap stick, and jewelry. And every year I see it and find myself captivated by Christmas. Not because of the items my mother stuffed into it over the years, but because of the memories it recalls. Christmases that were filled with joy. Others that were more downcast. Those that boasted family members from near and far and others that reminded us of those no longer with us.

That sequin stocking almost moves me to tears every December.

As a mom with my own traditions at hand, I realize that what I pull out of that bin each year will represent great joy and will be reminders of family, love, life, pain, sorrow, and peace for my kids in the years to come. And each Christmas our bins of decorations swell a bit. A new ornament from a friend. A new stocking for the baby. But one place I refuse to allow these bins swell too big is by purchasing new items every year.

For me, Christmas is supposed to be crusty. I mean that in a good way. It is supposed to be all yellow, damp from the basement, and smelling like candles and old pine needles. There is tradition dripping from every one of the items I pull out of our bins. Sure, we buy things on occasion. This year we got new stockings for my kids. Ones they will keep for their lives, that I will hang forever and ever. Their first “real” ones, with their names and all.

But mostly, I cannot possibly imagine buying new Christmas decorations. New things do not have the same memories as the old. And I know that not all memories are good. And that sometimes you have to start over. But if you are blessed enough with some good memories, what a joy to pull them out each year.

My grandmother knitted my husband and I matching stockings when we were first married. They are crocheted. They are baggy and they sag to the ground when filled. I love these. My grandmother passed away almost 10 years ago. This year I pulled them out and as I considered hanging them, my 3 year old said “hey look, socks.” And I apparently did not hear him.

So he pulled them on and began skating around the wood floor. He had them stretched beyond recognition and pulled up to his chest. I was angry for a second until I realized that he had just added another layer to the memory. One more piece of the puzzle. Of course now I cannot hang them since they are limp and misshaped, but once they regain consciousness, up they will go.

And if I raced out to buy new stuff, I know that someday it would get old and it would hold memories someday. But there is something special about preserving these memories. For if we dash off to buy a bunch of new stuff, we do the things I rant against on a regular basis. We buy, we create packaging and waste, we waste fuel on shipping things around and we add to our impact on the world.

Which, ends up stealing little bits of our children’s future. Which, ironically, is the whole reason we want to preserve these traditions in the first place! So for nostalgia and for the sake of the future I am trying to preserve, this Christmas and beyond, I am dedicated to hauling out the past.

Ever heard this one? “Tis better to give than to receive?”

Or how about this “Friends are more important than money?”

Maybe, “Remember the real reason for the season?”

Whenever someone starts yammering away on the moral attributes of the Christmas season, like a bored middle school student I start to doze off.

I’ve heard them all before. Much to my chagrin, I choose on many occasions to ignore them shame on me.

At my church the other day we spent an hour discussing what to do during Advent. And while we came up with some fabulous ideas, none of them were entirely new.

Consume less. Love more. Give more.

This holiday mantra is everywhere. Even in some very ironic places, like commercials inviting you to purchase something. Everyone all gathered around the table, giving gifts, fake laughter in the background. Making it look like no one cares about themselves, all are invested in the lives of others. Then they slap a logo across the screen and tell you that you are somehow incomplete without whatever they are selling.

Tonight I watched a holiday show with my children. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet but we watched a 30 minute program with Santa, presents, and the same message about the true meaning of Christmas. It is better to give than to receive.

So why, then, if I hear this all the time, don’t I live it out?

Why do I shrug off the message, flipping the channel as if the most ill-contrived, uncreative commercial in the world just threatened to suck off 30 seconds of my life?

Why, in my meeting at church, did we need to spend a full hour trying to savvy up this already brilliant and life-changing message, taking a few creative angles and doing everything possible to catch the heart of a congregation? Why did I already receive catalogues from Heifer International, World Vision and others in the mail? If we all “got it” they would be happily out of business. Some of the few people who would love to work themselves out of jobs.

If we’ve all heard the message, shouldn’t we have acted on it by now? Giving abundantly everywhere?

Sociologists, economists, theologians and more often agree that the world is filled with more than enough food to fill empty stomachs. Ghandi was once quoted as saying that “the earth has enough to satisfy every man’s need, but not every man’s greed.”

I am no different than most. Sure, I muse about these ironies in a blog, and do my best to limit myself as often as I possibly can. But I consume, I shop, my kids have Christmas lists. I wish I had great holiday decor. So I hear the invitation to move differently though this consumer-driven world. I hear the call to be wisdom with my stuff. I know the real reason for the season.

But I also shop. I buy. I wrap. I give. I get. I get caught up.

Doing these things are not necessarily wrong, but when we consistently blot out the voice that says there is a different way to do them, it comes time eventually to act on it. To give differently. To wrap less. To buy for those who do not have. To get caught up in helping people live better lives.

So even though I hear the real meaning of this Christmas season all the time. Even though I try to dress it up and pass it out like candy, even though I get a little bit bored by it at times, I still need to hear it. For I have much to give and there is great need in this world.

If you find yourself like me, wanting to trim it down rather than dress it up. Here are a few GREAT ways to start this season:

1. Don’t shop on the day after Thanksgiving. Just pass it by. You do not need a $30 microwave or a free DVD. you don’t.

2. Check out the Advent Conspiracy http://www.adventconspiracy.org/

3. Download this resource from the Center for a New American Dream “Simplify the Holidays Booklet” http://www.newdream.org/holiday/brochure.php

4. Check out the story of your stuff http://www.storyofstuff.com/

And remember, if you are anything like me, more than a little set in her ways, just because you heard it all before does not mean you actually know it. If I truly knew I suspect I’d live different than I do.

Peace.