Sloth, Depression, and Christmas

Many a day lately, I think I'd rather just forget everything and go back to bed and stay there all day.

Not wanting to get up is a classic sign of depression. So I make myself get up and do things. But I wonder, does this mean I'm depressed?

Maybe. But here’s the thing: Christmas is so much bigger than I and my so-called problems! He Who created time is now born into time. The Uncontainable One is contained in the Virgin’s womb. The all-good God takes on fallen human nature, and sanctifies it. He visits our planet in person, and it’s the only planet we know of He ever did so visit. And, as Anne says in her beautiful post (Do read the whole thing!), He gives meaning to being human, meaning death had stolen from us; and not just meaning, but beautiful, glorious, new, undreamt-of meaning. "Christ is born; glorify Him!"

(Oh, and I suspect depressed people go to bed and cry and moan and wish they were dead, which is not what I have in mind. I'd turn on my electric blanket and add an extra pillow and sit up and read. I'd let the cats come up to snuggle with me. I'd sip hot chocolate. I might knit, or at least look over pattern books in preparation for knitting. I'd play on my laptop computer. In short, I'd have a wonderful time! It's sloth, not depression, tugging at my skirts. As usual. Kyrie, eleison!)

So, no matter what your external circumstances, a very merry Christmas to you!