Lately, I've been thinking of the big picture and why we worry about trivial things.
Why is it important to have the newest, latest game or electronic toy? Why is that designer bag, dress, shoe, pair of jeans or shirt, and that particular house or car so important?
The object, once obtained, becomes just as expendable as last year's items.
“A Perfect Day," a 2006 film based on a book I read, is about a middle class author who lives payday to payday until one of his books becomes a bestseller. He becomes very successful and neglects everyone close to him.
Fast forward and, when faced with a lifespan of 40 more days, he remembers the people who fueled his journey.
Something similar happened to Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens' classic "A Christmas Carol."
But why does it have to come to that? Is it human nature to take others for granted at one point or another in life?
I truly believe Christmas and other holidays have been extremely commercialized. Don’t get me wrong; I understand supply and demand. I just strongly believe in staying focused on the main reason that holidays are holidays. After all, Christmas is about family, loved ones and togetherness.
"A Perfect Day” made me think of my life and how I treat people.
What would you do if you found out you would die in three weeks?Who would you spend your remaining days with? What would you do with your time?
A question I have asked many of my holiday guests this week is, “What was the first gift of Christmas?” With the economy in the state that it is in, my household has taken the answer to this question to heart. Almost every single gift given to each other this year was handmade.
Paper, wood, glue and popsicle sticks were among the materials, but the foundation was the first Christmas' gift: love.
Happy holidays.
Amber Kelley lives in Laurel Hill. Send news or comments to Hobo.homefront@gmail.com or P.O. Box 163, Laurel Hill, FL, 32567.
This article originally appeared on Crestview News Bulletin: HOBO HOMEFRONT: Let's think of the big picture this holiday season