It was an unusual interview. The woman explained she was writing an article for a national magazine on clever ways to put more joy into the holidays. Because I’ve written a lot on this subject, she called hoping I would help her with the story. I knew that I could.
In my typical, overly helpful manner, I proceeded to pitch to her one marvelous holiday cost-cutting idea after another—some of them principle-based, others uniquely practical.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that something wasn’t right. One after another, my ideas landed with a thud. She didn’t like them at all. And that’s when she made a comment that effectively brought the interview to a screeching halt.
She called me a grinch.
Now, she didn’t actually come right out and say, “You grinch!” She said that if she wrote an article encouraging the unthinkable practices of not incurring debt, buying fewer gifts, or cutting back in any way, her readers would think she’d interviewed that old you-know-who himself.
While she suggested my ideas would take all the fun and joy out of the season, she assured me it was nothing personal. But still, she called me a grinch.
Not being one who can easily let things go, I had to get to the bottom of this. I had to find out if what she suggested about me was in any way true. In my zeal to encourage people to take back control of Christmas from the locked jaws of commercialism, had I taken on a striking resemblance to that cranky old holiday grump, the Grinch?
I was quite certain I knew where to find out. And sure enough, right there on the shelf between Horton Hears a Who and Hunches in Bunches I found it—that familiar bright-red storybook: How the Grinch Stole Christmas!
It seems that for fifty-three years the Grinch has lived in a cave just north of Who-ville. He’s an ornery old soul with a heart two sizes too small. The Grinch detests the holiday celebrations down in Who-ville. So he devises a plan.
He steals all their presents and every last decoration. He hauls all the loot to the top of Mount Crumpit, where he prepares to—you guessed it—dump it.
He thinks his task is complete. All the noise, the joy, and the love—even the smallest hint of the season—are gone forever.
But then he hears a sound. It’s not sobbing but singing! The Whos are celebrating with no presents at all.
I sat there recalling why I love this story so much. And I admit it—I felt delightfully smug. My interviewer was way off base. I’m not the grinch in her story. I didn’t steal the joy. Her grinches are consumerism, overindulgence, and overdoing—the attitudes that insist Christmas is something we can find in a store, catalog, outlet, or on the internet.
If you’ve noticed the joy of the season is missing from your life—that no matter how hard you try, something’s just not right—maybe those grinches are to blame. Maybe it’s time to let them know they’ve lost their power.
Authentic joy comes not from all the outside trappings but from our hearts. It comes from the story of the birth of a small baby who would become our Savior—from that love, which can fill our lives with giddy joy.
And now we come to the close of our journey to a debt-proof Christmas.
America’s beloved poet Robert Frost expressed the significance of decisions and the wisdom to decide in this much-loved poem:
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost (1874–1963)
Life is a series of forks in the road. One decision leads to another. Is it a wise decision or one that will be destructive? Does it lead to higher ground or a valley of despair? Does it set us up for something better and more fulfilling? Or does it lead to eventual defeat, steady decline, and self-destruction?
So here we stand at yet another fork in the road. One path is posted “debt-free.” It’s the less-traveled, slower route, narrow and uphill. But at the destination waits joy, simplicity, satisfaction, and a trophy engraved “paid in full.”
The other road is “convenience,” a very tempting, ultramodern highway paved with easy credit. Taking this high-tech option means effortless travel. But holiday overindulgence, dissatisfaction, and stress leave many travelers filled with guilt, regret, and fear. There is no trophy for reaching this destination, only a miserable monthly reminder of the high cost of convenience. Which road will you take? That decision will make all the difference.
May this and every Christmas for you and your family be one of peace and joy.