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<\/a>Long ago, when there were only three television stations, you had to wait for what you wanted. That feature had the benefit of making things exceptional, which is the perplexing irony of our times. Able to have all so quickly\u2014with high speed downloads and internet superhighways\u2014things don\u2019t hold their value as long. Our taste buds are sanded clean from a glut of widely available sugar, a torrent of rainbows has blasted us colorblind, and iTunes has stunned us tone-deaf and tin-eared.<\/p>\nIn the past, anticipation\u2014having to wait\u2014raised the worth of the arrival. We learn this lesson at Lent every year, and promptly forget it on Easter Monday. But hardheaded as we are, that\u2019s the true way of things. Nuns and monks often tell the disbelieving that without privation, you cannot know joy; without sacrifice, you cannot marvel at abundance. St. Theresa slept on straw; St. Theresa walked barefoot; and yet, St. Theresa achieved her ecstasy. How about you?<\/p>\n
It\u2019s a sad fact that at this time of year, I don\u2019t need anything much. What\u2019s a new sweater or a gift certificate to me now? It doesn\u2019t even seem like Christmas comes as slowly as it used to; every time you turn around, the wreaths and lights are going up. But it wasn\u2019t always so.<\/p>\n
When I was a child, there were things called \u201cSpecials\u201d on those three stations I mentioned, and the \u201cChristmas Special\u201d was the best of all. Once a year, there were music specials (hosted by crooners and comedians who, if still living, now sell candles and golf clubs on HSN), and religious specials, like the midnight Mass from Rome (translated by a man with the most beautiful of speaking voices), and cartoon specials, the best of which were replayed\u2014only once\u2014every year. If you missed them, tough luck; you felt the cost of bad timing back then, when the clock and calendar mattered.<\/p>\n
There were also big dramatic events around Christmas, like the productions of the \u201cHallmark Hall of Fame.\u201d That very name was a gold standard for dramatic achievement. Now, what with an eponymously-named channel exclusively devoted to low romantic treacle, Hallmark is anything but special. Regardless, back then, they had ambition. They were something to wait for.<\/p>\n
One such effort, replayed at Christmas for years, was \u201cThe Littlest Angel,\u201d a musical version of the classic children\u2019s book by Charles Tazewell. While I didn\u2019t care for the songs, the tale was good.<\/p>\n
It involves a little shepherd boy who dies and goes up to heaven, where he becomes very homesick. Thanks to a kindly old seraph, he\u2019s allowed to return to earth and retrieve a box that contains his prized possessions. The things he\u2019s collected are of value only to him\u2014butterfly wings, a robin\u2019s egg, some smooth stones from the river where he\u2019d played, and a leather strap that was his faithful shepherd dog\u2019s collar.<\/p>\n
When the news spreads of Jesus\u2019 coming birth, all the angels work on presents for him. The littlest angel has only the box to give\u2014which of course pleases God the most because of its purity and sacrifice. It alone among all the gifts begins to shimmer, glow, then rise to the heavens to become the Star of Bethlehem.<\/p>\n
Now the reason I\u2019m mentioning this is because after seeing that special, and being the impressionable boy that I was, I got it into my head that I needed to have such a box. As it turned out, my brother had just finished making a crude cube for his shop class\u2014a rough square made of plywood with a top held on by door hinges. He didn\u2019t care for the thing, so I confiscated it and began my task. The object gathering went on for quite some time, until the box was filled. I also decorated the outside surface with stickers that came from cereal boxes.<\/p>\n
I had the occasion to find that box recently as I was cleaning out closets for an impending move. There it sat on a shelf, unopened for years. Of course, what you expect to hear\u2014deserve to hear\u2014is that as I pulled out those treasures, one by one, my heart was warmed at the endearing things that I found inside. A flood of memories beset me as the decades slipped past\u2026<\/p>\n
Nope. As far as I could tell, it was just a bunch of trash. Some marbles, parts of a board game, jigsaw puzzle pieces, a little plastic army man, assorted badges, a strip of green stamps, a coupon for Purina dog food (?), and a spent bottle of aftershave.<\/p>\n
What the hell was I doing?<\/p>\n
While the littlest angel spent his few earthly years being inspired by the simple things and finding great meaning in them, it seems that I myself got no further than the \u201csimple\u201d part. The \u201cspecialness\u201d angle eluded me altogether. The littlest angel created a reliquary for the pure; all I did was make a trash can.<\/p>\n
So it seems I was a child of this age well before my time. Because the truth is, I couldn\u2019t wait. I wanted to manufacture specialness. I wanted the box to be full and significant the minute that I got it. And honestly, I don\u2019t know that I\u2019m too much better even now.<\/p>\n
But maybe I will be in days to come, for at least my lesson is a simple one, fit for the season: We all have something worth waiting for, and it\u2019s impossible to fabricate worth. Better to bear empty hands in search of treasure than to fill them with whatever is shiny and close. Better to wait, and watch\u2014poverty is all eyes\u2014for what will reveal itself in time.<\/p>\n
It comes, or so the story goes. It comes even on the coldest winter\u2019s night, and even to the most unlikely; even to us, does it come, the certain poor shepherds, in fields where we lay.<\/p>\n
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