Cindy Lou Who
and the spirit of Christmas
"No matter how different a Who may appear, he will always be welcomed with holiday cheer." — Cindy Lou Who
In the last few weeks I have watched the 2018 cartoon version of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, twice, with my youngest grandchild, Violet. It is presently my favorite because it feels more like a Peanuts version of the classic while the others are a bit creepy.
When the adorable and caring Cindy Lou tries to convince The Grinch to close his eyes, make a wish on a snowflake, and take in the spirit of Christmas, I melt. Ahhhh.
Close my eyes.
Bless her.
The Who’s of Whoville are so genuine in their love of Christmas that even when Grinch stole their entire Christmas, or so he thought, they gathered in the town square, held hands and sang. Nothing could tear them apart.
Stealing Christmas was impossible. And, as I whispered to Violet, “the people of Whoville, had Christmas in their hearts.” Pointing to her heart. “When Grinch heard them joyfully singing his heart opened up to the magic of Christmas. He was sad for what he done.”
Christmas is a beautiful time. And it’s a hard time. It is an extra exhaustive time like in the case of Cindy Lou’s hard working mom. Life doesn’t stop for Christmas. Many people are in pain all year long. Many, like me, are good at hiding anxiety or not hiding anxiety. I move faster, talk faster, make too many lists and run as if Christmas is chasing me. I often wish I was doing Christmas with my partner, but he is usually busy working and playing music gigs. Then I am reminded of all the Christmases running ahead of Christmas and I feel very tired. I hear myself saying, “someone has to do it.” Or, “I’ll enjoy this after Christmas.”
I’ve had a lot of conversations with God about Christmas. If my family really knew me, they’d know my one and only wish has always been for “time.” A special date here and there. A family tradition like a once a month dinner together. Or… “time” to take in Christmas with my husband, whatever that might look like. A Christmas movie where he’s not exhausted. Shopping together or not shopping. Walking, holding hands, slipping into a coffee house for a treat? serving together? I begin to feel the anxiety creeping in as I go about “the stuff” knowing how little time the world affords each other.
The scenarios of time.
Christmas is in my heart longer than the season. My youngest was born six days before Christmas. My dad was dying over Christmas. I leave Christmas lights up in honor of my dad who loved Christmas.
I crave the time where God is near. Time to feel the presence of His love. It’s strange how in good, and in bad times, it’s a beautiful memory to know that peace. I am chasing that peace. The speedway to “one” special day. It will be a good day. A blessed day that I will forever cherish.
It’s been seven years since I hosted.
It will be one magical chaotic explosion of noise, paper and tissue.
What Satan used for division, during the pandemic, God has slowly mended. We will hold hands like in Whoville. We’ll say grace.
As the day winds down the grandkids will enter a loud-squealing-bed-time-sugar-high-highway, called our house, that could shatter glass as the cat runs for her life and the dogs scatter.
I will cherish every second.
Christmas is a time to feel the magic. It’s about what cannot be taken from us. Jesus. In our hearts. It's about forgiveness and love. It's about not being lonely.
This week, at the grocery store, I was waiting in a long line with only one checker. I had smiled my way through and to my surprise many people smiled back. There were a few people behind me with only a couple of items, to my many. I let them go ahead. Finally, another checker appeared and waved me over, as I was next. About four other shoppers rushed. The slight reverse of my cart was waylaid to the sound of a lady, perhaps my age, whining out-loud behind me.
She had two things in her hand, so I figured, why not? again. What’s the rush? I had three other places to go before my youngest and my brother arrived and hopefully the food would keep in the car. I brought those blue ice things I throw in my husband’s lunchbox.
The lady hustled past me still grumbling. So I decided to be like Cindy Lou.
“It’s not like it used to be,” I said.
“No, it’s not,” she said rather abrupt, huffing. “They should recognize us old folks.”
Like I said, we were probably the same age and I don’t consider myself old.
I said, “have you noticed how heavy they pack our bags? I know they are hiring special needs kids and I guess they are doing their best.”
She agreed and said, “I miss the old days.” “You know I grew up in Inglewood.”
I said, “Oh, I grew up in the San Fernando Valley. Arleta, Pacoima area”
For some reason, she said to me, “you know, growing up I never saw color.” She was a pretty black woman.
I said, “you must have had a good mama.”
She said, “I did. She taught us to love people no matter their color.”
I told her “my mom was the same and I miss those days even though there were problems. It’s just our parents were good enough to let us love each other.”
“Amen to that sister,” she said
When she was done checking out, I said, God Bless you and Merry Christmas.”
She turned around, hugged me tight, and said, “God Bless you too sister. Merry Christmas…and thank you.”
She wasn’t Grinchy anymore…
Thank you Alex for the amazing opportunity to write for Lighthouse this year :) Thank you also to your amazing readers!! My wish for you all, and the Lighthouse crew, is joy in the smallest snowflake, peace and many blessings in 2025. I can't wait to see what's in store for all of us! Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy 30th birthday to my youngest son today :) Happy Everything! Love, deb (and mom) ox
"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace"
- Isaiah 9:6