That Warm, Fuzzy Feeling

The sky is gray. Clouds stretch on for miles and miles. The once lush and lively trees are falling to pieces along the sidewalk, their remaining leaves showing off only muted versions of their once fiery colors. The grass seems to have lost its usual green vibrancy. The air is cold and damp. The wind whips at my face, forcing me to blink excessively. A few short hours of restless sleep, and now I have to head to class. And yet...

I'm excited.

Not sarcastically excited.
Not temporarily excited.
Genuinely excited.

I spend about one sixth of the year living under the influence of this genuine excitement. It's one of the most real, tangible, long-lasting feelings I experience. And it starts on a day like this. The first snow. Some people dread it. Some people like it. Some people are indifferent. But as far as I'm concerned, it's one of the highlights of the year. It doesn't even have to stick. In fact, it usually doesn't. It usually comes on an otherwise miserable day, weather-wise. So why, then, do I experience it with such optimism? Where does that warm, fuzzy feeling come from?

Anticipation. Anticipation of one moment. The moment that I consider to be one of my favorite things. I'll set up the scenario:
On Christmas morning, my siblings and I wake up around 9 or so. We used to all wait at the top of the stairs together, until everyone was ready. Now my big brother lives in the basement, so that's not possible, but we all wait and go into the family room at the same time, regardless. And there our stockings are waiting. We wait for Scott to place all the gifts he clearly wrapped that morning under the tree, and then we all approach the stockings together, opening up various small gifts, candies and usually some flavored hot cocoa. In that moment we're still kids, all of us, from 15-25 years old...but it's not the moment.

After we've gathered all of our goodies back up into the stockings, we take a short break of sorts and head over to the living room. Usually anyone who wants coffee or a cocoa goes into the kitchen and gets a steaming mug. and then we all sit down together. The very second after we sit down the moment happens.

A large bay window looks out into our front yard, hopefully covered in a light layer of white. In front of the window, the Christmas tree is all lit up with colored lights. Our mismatched ornaments litter the tree with a variety of colors, shapes, and pictures chronicling our growth. The moving train ornament that we've enjoyed since childhood creates a small buzz, and it's the only noise in the room. My pajama-clad family surrounds me, smiles on their faces, contentment in their eyes, hot drinks grasped in their hands. I feel loved. I feel at peace. I feel at home.

That is my favorite moment of every Christmas. There are those who would argue that my perception of Christmas is off. They would argue that when people primarily associate Christmas with family togetherness and gathering together on Christmas morning, we're missing the point. They would be wrong. Don't get me wrong, the idea is something I struggle with. The issue of the commercialization of Christmas is something that's been on my mind ever since watching the Charlie Brown Christmas special oh so many years ago. But I'm not talking about the commercialization, I suppose. I'm talking about that warm, fuzzy feeling. That feeling that I consciously trace back to the moment but can actually be traced back even further.

The root of the feeling is Jesus Christ, and ultimately his birth. Without Christ, my life would be meaningless. I firmly believe that He is the reason my family is so close. I believe that He is the source of all love, and as such the source of every comfort and peace I've ever felt in my life. So when I wake up on a day like today and begrudgingly head to class, I can feel a hope that transcends my limited existence here, and that hope can carry me through with a joy and excitement that's like nothing else in this world...and like everything in the next.