There is no chance that snow will fall on San Diego for Christmas. My three year old is already getting into her annual Grandparent's house, Christmas time brats. Indeed, there aren't enough Christmas carols, rolls of wrapping paper, or servings of honey-baked ham to make me feel very Christmasy. For the first time in my whole life I am sick of the commercialization of Christmas--even if this does make me sound like a Charlie Brown Christmas rerun. The low point was time spent at the Christian books store looking for gag gifts. There they are diligently putting Christ back into Christmas--"Jesus is the Reason for the Season"--and in case you might forget, you can get it emblazoned on a teashirt, coffee-mug, note-cards, bookmarks, Christmas card, magnet, garden banner, poster, socks, flip-flops, key-ring, or cash box. Infant Holy, Infant Lowly.

No shepherds on the hills they say in the winter in Palestine? So perhaps the snow is not necessary.

And Johanna has now settled down for a long winters nap after screaming for two hours ...perhaps sugar plums dance in her head...

But, this other problem that I am dealing with. This problem of the West and it's wealth is harder to just think myself out of. What does it mean to confront the poor baby Jesus as rich young rulers. The manger that calls judgment down on my opulence.... Are all these royal velvets and feasts really in celebration of this new born King? I am at a loss. Most of all I really want to stand in awe at that incarnation and to be able to judge the babe in the manger worthy of the following:

Let all mortal flesh keep silence,
And with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly minded,
For with blessing in His hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
Our full homage to demand.

King of kings, yet born of Mary,
As of old on earth He stood,
Lord of lords, in human vesture,
In the body and the blood;
He will give to all the faithful
His own self for heavenly food.

Rank on rank the host of heaven
Spreads its vanguard on the way,
As the Light of light descendeth
From the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish
As the darkness clears away.

At His feet the six wingèd seraph,
Cherubim with sleepless eye,
Veil their faces to the presence,
As with ceaseless voice they cry:
Alleluia, Alleluia
Alleluia, Lord Most