...Prepare Him room...!

Prepare Him Room
(Disclaimer: This blog has been rated PG: 13. It may be suitable for children robbed of the sanctity of the magic of childhood. It may not be suitable for adults who have refused touch with reality. Thank you.)
In the hustle and bustle of this commercially overrated season called Christmas, I often ponder on certain things... mostly things I’d like to perform an experiment about. Say, not buying anyone any Christmas presents and seeing if my picture is still on their refrigerator. Which of course has been rebutted by, “Well we won’t buy you presents either then.” Could I possibly be the only person who may not get a Christmas present and be COMPLETELY and utterly fine with it?
When we were growing up in Nigeria, -my siblings and I- my parents never celebrated Christmas in our home. At least not to the extent that America has guided my parents’ children to corrode their wills down to. My mother always told us, when we saw other children receive presents (mostly sweets, and money), that Christmas was not a celebration for our benefit in the way that we were being taught. Christmas morning found us feasting of course, (By the way, Christmas is definitely a time that makes me EXTREMELY nostalgic for Nigeria. We KNOW how to get down with the celebration. NO Christmas here has ever even breathed next to the scale, let alone climb it,) but the point was to remain the point.
I did not particularly care to cherish this wisdom that my mom tried ever so patiently to instill into me. Partly because there was some hypocrisy involved. See, we were not supposed to expect anything from our parents, but people expected things from them, which they delivered. My mom would explain that those people do not have the luxury of the knowledge we had about what Christmas was about. I respectfully chose not learn this lesson because quite frankly, the ignorant people looked happier, and nicer dressed.
Let me explain what a Nigerian Christmas looks like.
If you didn’t have relatives before Christmas in Nigeria, you certainly will have some at Christmas. They will all of a sudden run out of money. You will all of a sudden have these titles that YOU KNOW you hadn’t been crowned with in ANY ceremonies, (e.g.: Chief, Lord, The Main Man, the bomb-diggity, etc).
If you were starving before Christmas in Nigeria, you won’t be starving at Christmas. Just walk into any home, they’ll feed you. They’ll likely feed you enough to last you till next Christmas! You are never hungry because after eating at your house, just walk it off, and when you walk far enough, enter the first house you see and gorge yourself there.
There is music. The kind of music that does not consent to your sitting around; it makes your hips sway, you tail shake, your liver quiver, your groove improve. It’s always there, and there’s always mirth.
There is no anger, no tension. No discomfort. Whoever you’re mad at, you forgive them at Christmas. You can totally hate them after the New Year’s Day; but during Christmas, you love on each other.
If you are a goat, cow, chicken, turkey, rabbit, bush rat, or fish that lives in the backyard, I would begin to be really nervous whenever someone starts to play Christmas carols.
If you are a child, this is the time to be all the mischievous you might have been saving up all year, because you’re with your grandparents; and your parents are powerless and therefore can do SQUAT when your grandparents are around.
If you are the biggest pots in the house, start doing some exercises because you’re about to go to work!
We don’t have Santa Claus, We have Father Christmas. They have similarities like, the outfit. Their stories are different though; Santa Claus comes from the North Pole, Father Christmas comes from “the Galaxy”. Santa Claus comes to the homes of the children in America, in Nigeria, children go to see Father Christmas, and when you do go to see him, he does give you a toy. You usually select from a list and when you go to see him and ask from that list, you get “exactly what you wanted.” Oh, and in Nigeria, Father Christmas is black… ahem… excuse me… he is Nigerian skinned.
Whoever he was, my mother’s children were discouraged to believe in them, because they didn’t tell the truth about who they were. Yeah, I was a really, really, really good kid. My mom was very, very, very particular about what her children imbibed. Anyway, my mother told us that Christmas was about a Lord, who while we hated still, came on earth with wondrous love. The 25th of December was a day that Christians chose to celebrate his birthday. I remember the first time it actually occurred to me that the 25th of December was Jesus’ birthday. I felt bad. On the birthday of everyone I have met, it has always been their day. We focus on that person, remember them, call them, make a fuss over them, and give them presents. On Jesus’ birthday though, I call other people, I remember other people, I fuss over other people, and myself; I focus on other people, and myself. Jesus gets a chapter and prayer on Christmas morning, and it is all about those presents under that tree.
This year the song “Joy to the world!” struck me in a way that it never had before. At the line: “…prepare him room…” I stopped singing and pondered in mid hymn. Do we? Do we prepare Him room? Do we open our hearts to welcome the King of glory who didn’t have to come. Who didn’t have to be born KNOWING that he was going to die for people who didn’t even like Him. He came to be born for Herod who pursued his life. He came for me. He came to remind me that He thinks I hung the moon! I haven’t made him room. I’ve been so busy going about everything that has to be done in preparation for this day, going out and about with family and friends, preparing for “that day”, that I’ve forgotten that I should make Him a cake. I should make him a real room instead of a manger. I should take presents to people who don’t get it on Easter, or Valentine’s Day, or their birthday. I should tell people about Him and how special He makes me feel. I should buy him presents: like, resolutions to live my life better, or to care about someone whom he loves but that person doesn’t feel it. I should make Him dinner and talk about Him, and hear Him tell me what it was like when He was a child.
Our hearts are so cluttered; especially at Christmas. Christ is not the wreath you hang on the door outside, he is not the tree in the corner of the room, He is not the lights you strew all over the place, He is not the presents underneath the tree. He is THE POINT. He is the reason WHY we get to… well… forget Him.
Happy birthday Jesus, I was not there, but it’s nice to know you cared so much to come and save my soul. Happy birthday Jesus, my gift is this life; I can’t believe you came for me. What a nice surprise.
Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King.
Let every heart
Prepare Him room…!