Seems like every year Christmas

comes sooner than it did the year before.

You'd think, wouldn't you,

that we'd catch on to the fact that here it comes, Dec. 25, ready or not,

and we'd shop all year long, or get out decorations weeks instead of days

ahead of time.

Oh, there are those that do.

I read about a woman who is even now hitting the sales for gifts she'll

give in December 2002. For her, Christmas 2001 was in the bag, box, or

tissue by the time last January's sales were history.

With rare exceptions, gifts

I buy in June look flat and uninspired by the time Advent rolls around.

I've actually unwrapped and rewrapped gewgaws I bought at craft shops

in a desperate attempt to make them "feel" like Christmas. Leftover

Christmas cards and gift wrap, purchased on sale the week between holidays,

looks like exactly that ­ leftovers. Doesn't help that the year usually

appears on the back of the card and I start worrying that someone will

notice I'm sending 1999 cards in 2001.

The funny thing is that those

of us whose churches follow a liturgical calendar have heard all our lives

that Advent signifies the world waiting for the coming of Messiah. We

teach little children that they must wait patiently for Christmas, and

we give them calendars or other devices to help them mark off the days.

Meanwhile, we grown folks do

most of our waiting in post office lines or maneuvering our way through

telephonic menus. At least there's a sense of community to be gained by

the former, as we visit with a grab bag of fellow Fayette countians.

We can only wish that waiting

has the same sense of anticipation that children feel. The world seems

to be spinning in smaller and smaller circles, like a top spiraling out

of control and about to crash over on its side. Wait? We can't wait. There's

so much to do, and so little time. Wait? What a luxury, waiting.

No, for adults, these Advent

days before Christmas mean "coming" or "drawing near."

The wise crafters of our faith were warning us that Christmas, with its

message of joy and peace, is coming, ready or not. Makes me think of a

young girl deciding to change her hair style, and saying, "I think

I'll let it grow." She'll "let" it grow? As if she can

stop it?

"Let" Christmas come.

As if we can stop it. What we can stop is our own frenetic pace. Supposing

all the decorations don't get put up this year? What if we don't bake

cookies like we used to do with children underfoot?

Dave likes to tell how I used

to stay up to all hours sewing doll clothes. "Just one more thing,"

was the only answer he'd get when he asked when I was coming to bed. And

of course, one thing led to another, and oh, wouldn't that scrap of purple

velour make a pretty cape to go over Chatty Cathy's ice skating costume?

Did my all-nighter impress

my little darlings next morning? For about 10 seconds per outfit. When

would I learn? Not until they were grown and gone, I regret to say.

Now I'll make a small confession.

Most of this column was written last year shortly after Christmas, then

put away to be completed at leisure in plenty of time for Christmas 2001.

And was it? Hardly.

But reviewing it and updating

it did remind me that this year a veil of sorrow seems to overlay the

merriest festival of the year. We find ourselves thinking of the families

who gathered last year, around menorahs and Advent wreaths, unaware that

it was for the last time.

Would they have done anything

different last holiday season if they had known? Would it have mattered

to them that cookies were baked or doll's dresses hand-sewn? Their grieving

survivors are left with only memories of Christmas or Hanukkah past and

are dreading those just ahead.

I think many of us are indeed

waiting as our holy days draw near, ready or not. Waiting to sense the

joyful spirit of Christmas past. Waiting for merrymaking to begin. Waiting

for some sign that terror could not take away gladness.

What we're waiting for may

not come this year, may not come ever again. For now, I would make my

Christmas wish a plea for peace, a prayer that by this time next year

the broken hearts of families who lost loved ones have begun to heal,

a prayer that those whose sons or daughters are far from home this year

may see their families reunited.

The unbridled giddiness of

our innocent Yuletides of years past may never return, but if peace takes

its place, our Advent, our time of waiting, will be fruitful.

My Christmas greeting to you

this year is the same as it was last year and the year before. It is heartfelt

and simple: Peace. Peace to those whose hearts are aching. Peace to those

who find it hard to wait. Peace in our homes, in our communities, in our

nation, and in the world.

Peace.

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