It was a vain hope my wife wouldn’t notice, she notices everything, especially when it comes to house details and this was in plain sight. But for a few days she said nothing. I certainly wasn’t going to bring it to her attention, but yesterday her silence broke; “When are you going to take the Christmas lights down, it’s February.” To be fair, in my defence we left home on Boxing Day, and we were away through most of January, so I haven’t exactly been around to take them down. Two of our grown sons still live with us, before we left, they offered to take them down; it must have slipped their minds. Apparently, they hadn’t inherited their mother’s observational powers.
If it was up to me, I would leave the lights up, after all it is only eleven months to Christmas now, less in fact when you consider they go up a month before, so only ten months to go. Not worth the trouble to take them down when I am going to have to put them back up so soon. The other evening driving through our neighbourhood I noticed some other houses also in non-compliance, indeed a couple of them were still on! At least ours weren’t Lit. I pleaded my case, but my wife was unmoved, and, as she is the final arbiter in all matters decor regarding our home they will have to come down. As yet they are still on my to do list, perhaps if I procrastinate long enough…
Although we are still much closer to Christmas 2025 than Christmas 2026 it is starting to fade into distant memory where it will coalesce to with all the Christmas pasts, becoming indistinguishable from each other. The Griswold satisfaction of resurrecting a tangled web of lights into an acceptable display faded even before the day of celebration. Even if Christmas hasn’t been physically packed away, mentally it was boxed up weeks ago. Nobody wants the remnants of last year hanging limply around, entangling us as we move into the second month of the now not so new year, unless you are reluctant or powerless to cut the ties.
Basalt Cliffs
However, one distinguishable story I will carry forward from last Christmas also involves lights, although not my own. A few days before Christmas I was out running when I came across something which even I noticed. Often when I run, I listen to podcasts, and I get so entangled in thought the world passes me by in oblivion. I have even run past my own wife, unconscious of her presence because I was so caught up in my own little world, although I was certainly conscious of her presence when I got home! It was a gloomy morning, occasionally brightened by the odd house who whether by design or default had left their Christmas lights on, offering a little cheer. My run took me down into what is called the “dry canyon,” which was once occupied by a river but thousands of years ago a lava flow forced it to carve another route leaving a “canyon” several hundred yards wide with seventy food basalt cliffs on either side. Granted it is not the Grand Canyon, as canyons go it is fairly insignificant, indeed until forty years ago it was used as a rubbish tip, and although it has been cleaned up you can still see bits or rusting old cars jammed in the rocks. Extending for three or four miles, it has tarmac and dirt trails to walk, bike and run on. I headed north. The trail ends by a sewage treatment plant, which for the most part remains odourless.
Sewage Plant
Someone told me the only time it smells is when substances are tipped down the drain which shouldn’t be, and the system’s chemical balance is disrupted. This morning all was in harmony. I ran along the shoulder of a road which is used to access the canyon. A few houses are dotted here and there; each nestled in their own acreage. Then I noticed something I had never seen before in the hundreds of times I have run down here. A man standing with a rifle by the side of the road. What was he doing there? Some maniacal killer out looking for victims? His back was towards me, his attention was fixed on something the other side of the wire fence of one of the houses. Should I turn and sprint away while I still had the chance? I had slowed but hadn’t stopped running, and now I could see a state police truck parked a little further down and felt some relief, although I was still not sure whether I should proceed. Back in the summer when Christmas was on nobody’s mind, I had seen a couple of police cars with flashing lights sitting in this driveway. Scenarios driven by years of watching crime dramas flitted through my mind. The police again had been called only to be ambushed by the man with the gun who was now standing over their dead bodies. Except, then I saw there were two officers standing by the truck looking in the same direction as the man with the gun, with an expression of slight bemusement. Drawing parallel with them I stopped to see what was capturing their attention. A large buck, at least a four point, was standing with his neck lowered shaking his head continually as if trying to rid it of something. Something appeared to be caught up in his antlers, it was hard to make out exactly what, but then when I did, I couldn’t believe what my eyes were telling me. The buck’s antlers were snared with another buck, not quite as big, except this one was lying horizontal and motionless apart from the violent tremors being thrust on it from the other trying to rid itself of him. What I couldn’t see in all the commotion was what exactly was binding them together. Why couldn’t the buck break free?
I stopped to chat with the three onlookers. The man with the gun turned out to be a fish and wildlife biologist, and the two officers from the state police game department. They had been alerted to the buck’s predicament and had come to help. Steve, (the biologist) had just darted it, and now they were waiting for the tranquilliser to take effect. My run is about two and half miles out and back, the turn around point was just a little further on, so as it was a bit chilly to be standing around, I decided to carry on. Hopefully by the time I returned I would be able to see what was holding the living and dead together. My timing was spot on, when I got back to the scene the large buck was out cold and one of the officers was snipping away at what was binding them together. I peered over the fence. Again, I thought my eyes were deceiving me. “That looks like Christmas lights?” It was! A great bundle of wire wrapped tightly around their antlers, bound them together, but far from offering them any glimmer of cheer these lights held only the gloomy prospect of death. The irony of death by Christmas lights!
The Strand of Death
We tried to imagine how these two bucks managed to get themselves into such an entanglement. We speculated on how the fight started over a territorial infringement, so intent on their skirmish they didn’t notice how close they were to a bush adorned with lights. Their contest continued, but they were oblivious to the fact the lights had now also entered the fray. Hooked on an antler, as the bucks clashed their heads from side to side a loop was made. Then another loop, and another. It was as if some unseen force was crocheting their fates together, loop by loop, until the whole strand was wound tightly round the pair’s antlers. What a surprise it must have been for them, when the testosterone having run its course, they discovered they were unable to separate. Perhaps it ignited another argument as to who was to blame for their predicament, and so they fought on to the death.
In normal circumstances after such a fight the victor walks away bloodied and scared, but with their head held high, leaving the vanquished behind, but not in this case. The victor was unable to raise his head any higher than the body of his dead opponent would allow him. How long could he have survived without intervention? Into the New Year? To the next New Year? By the looks of it, he had already been dragging his victim around for a few days. I suppose he was able to eat and drink, but his mobility must have been greatly hindered making him vulnerable to a cougar attack. It must be a miserable way to live, unable to raise your head, look around, breathe in the fresh air, and see the horizon.
There have been times in my life where I have entered a New Year battered and bruised by the previous twelve months, vanquished by its continuous conflicts, desperate to be rid of it, clinging to the hope next year will be different; as if the mere change of date acts like a guillotine neatly severing the past from the future. When you are down life doesn’t let up for one second. Steve told me of a time on another occasion when he tranquillised a buck to set it free of something it got entangled in, and as soon as it was down, two other bucks rushed out of the woods and started attacking it!
Other years I have entered wearing the garland of victory, yet my head has still been bowed down with the fear of expectation. Can I make this New Year live up to the last, or even better supersede it? Victory is tenuous, there is always someone or something to challenge the territory we have won; we must continually keep our heads down and fight to maintain our hold. Again, living is hard when you can’t lift your head and see the light on a future horizon.
After five minutes of snipping, finally the buck was free. Steve inspected it, and apart from scrapes and cuts it seemed to be in good shape, so he administered the antidote. The dead buck was dragged away to the state police’s truck. It was not in good shape. Although by this time I was getting cold I wanted to see the buck rise up. It took about five minutes, but then suddenly his eyes opened and for the first time in days he was able to lift his head. A couple of minutes after that he slowly staggered to his feet, eying us with suspicion. He was free! I wondered what he would tell his mates about his experience, and if he had any recollection about his saviour. “You know I had the strangest dream! I dreamt I had a fight with Fred, and he died, but he was attached to me, and I couldn’t get rid of him. Everywhere I went he was hanging off my antlers dragging me down. Just when I thought I will never get rid of him a figure appeared and cut me free, then I woke up. By the way, where is Fred?”
The Dry Canyon
By now I really was cold, there was nothing more left to see so I stuck my AirPods back in my ears, wished the trio “Happy Christmas” and resumed my run back home leaving them to load the dead buck. On the podcast I was listening to a pastor was talking about Jesus’ birth. All these Christmases later it is quite hard to picture exactly what it must have been like, because we have become so wrapped up in all the peripheral stuff which goes along with it. It’s hard to separate ourselves from it all and get back to what it is really all about. There were no trees and stocking, and Joseph didn’t have to worry about putting up and taking down lights!
Maple Bridge
Apart from Joseph and Mary and the family in the house, the only people who got to see Jesus that night were a group of lowly Shepherds. Sitting out in the field at night with heads weighed down with the cares of the world like anyone else, out of the blue an angel arrived to alert them to the Good News of what God was doing nearby. A “Saviour” had been born who is “Christ the Lord.” The sky was illuminated by the glory of God and then a load more angels joined the first singing praise to God. After the angels departed the shepherds went off to see for themselves. Sure enough they found the house with Jesus, Mary and Joseph just as the angel told them. After hanging out for a while, sharing their story, they went back to the field with their heads held high “glorifying and praising God.” Everyone who heard them was gobsmacked. How could this be? The new year hadn’t arrived yet. Perhaps it’s not the New Year which cuts us free from our past but something or rather someone else which has the power to release us.
When I got home, I told the story of what I had seen to my family. My kids asked if I had filmed it. No, I hadn’t, in fact I hadn’t even thought about it, I was too wrapped up in the story. I didn’t even take a photo. “Too bad,” they said, “you could have posted it, and it would have gone viral.”
I wonder if any of the shepherds lived long enough to see Jesus start His ministry. Did any of them hear Him teach or witnessed Him heal? I wonder if any of them were there when He drew His last breath on the cross? Did any of them see Him resurrected from the grave? I wonder if they knew just how viral His story would go, and all these Christmases later the Good News is still being told?
Today, on the seventh of February I finally acquiesced and took down the lights; the last vestige of Christmas and the old year gone. But there is another light which burns brightly and is never taken down. It is the light the Shepherds kept burning brightly all the days of their lives, so they could lift up their heads even with the knowledge of their past and the uncertainly of the future. Even at the prospect of death, they were no longer bound because of the Saviour of the world had come. I am asking if Jesus can keep my Christmas lights on through this New Year too, and free me from everything which wraps around my life and threatens to destroy me.
