In 1969, Peggy Lee made her song “Is That All There Is?” famous. Her sarcastic question tapped into the hopelessness that permeated the culture of the late 60’s.

Over 50 years later, the question is still appropriate. The hopelessness we felt then still raises its ugly head in the 21st century, especially this time of year. When the Christmas tree comes down and the presents are unwrapped, forgotten, or returned, we are prone to scratch our heads and ask, “Is that all there is?” Did we endure the holiday displays since early October, the Black Friday/Cyber Monday sales, and the maxing out of our credit cards just to pack it all away again in red and green tubs and wait for next year? Did the hype, decorating, and over-spending make any lasting difference? If that’s all there was to your holiday…then probably not.

I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that each year, I’m tempted to move further and further away from the things that matter. In a disposable world, we have disposable holidays. The day after Christmas, leftover stock is disposed of quickly by reducing the prices by 70-90%, and Valentine’s Day cards and heart-shaped candy boxes hit the shelves. They, too, will be disposed of in like manner in favor of Easter bunnies and chocolate eggs. No wonder we become numb to the days and seasons that should transform our lives. We lay the blame at commercialism’s door, but I wonder. Is the real culprit our Grinch-like heart, whose hinges have rusted shut because we have closed ourselves off from the Spirit of God?

I love living in places where there are four seasons each year. Seasons signify change with a purpose, change that cannot be rushed by the calendar, and change that shows in the skies, trees, and temperatures. Seasons are good; they are God-ordained and perpetuate the cycle of life. Our lives should adjust to the seasons, not the other way around.

Yet that is precisely what happens as I walk through the aisles of the big box stores. They attempt to dictate what I should feel and when. Well, I cannot change what department stores and mega-chains do, but I can determine whether or not it will have an unhealthy and spiritually negative effect on me.  I can decide not to allow others with ulterior motives to set my holiday agenda. I can choose to slow down and light the candles of Advent as my spirit dictates and to pause on Good Friday to remember the sacrifice that preceded a new life and a glorious new beginning. I can keep the door of my heart well-oiled with God’s Spirit and keep my heart tender with daily doses of His Word.

I guess my goal, my heart-felt desire, is to come to the end of this season and say, “Wow! What a glorious holiday that was! How wonderful it was to sing the carols, light the candles, exchange love-bought gifts, and get chills every time I saw a crèche.” Holidays (holy days) should change us for the better, not make us more cynical. They should encourage pauses and contemplation, not cause us to rush around frantically looking for one last gift.

Instead of throwing up our hands next year and singing, “Is that all there is?” what if we were so impacted and transformed by the season that our song was, “Go tell it on the mountain, that Jesus Christ is born?”