True to “tradition” (I use that term loosely), we decorated for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving. This year I wised up and put the tree up several days earlier, then spent the several nights getting all the lights on (and then straightening our leaning tree by using twine to anchor it to the wall). It was far less stressful this way, and we got to actually decorate the whole day, and the tree was done in relative quick timing. We all enjoyed some eggnog pancakes (in the traditional Rudolph presentation), pulled out the Christmas books the kids excitedly looked through, played some of our favorite Christmas CDs, and ended the day with a movie with the kids. We watched The Polar Express, and the kids loved it.
However, I can’t help but scoff at the exaltation of the generic virtue of “believe,” as if belief or even faith is some pinnacle of existence. “It doesn’t matter where the train is going, but whether you get on.” Really? Should we just blindly trust without supporting evidence to its reliability? Is it wise to walk upon an iced lake without a knowledge of its foundational depth? Perhaps I don't have to know "where the train is going" if I can trust the conductor, but I'm not sure a strange man who sounds like every other adult and claims his trackless train is headed to the uninhabitable “North Pole” qualifies.
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