20. Say it with me.

It's a little thing, really. A personal pet peeve. One that shouldn't bother me nearly no much as the oft-misstated "Elementary, my dear Watson"s, "Beam me up, Scotty"s, and "Play it again, Sam"s of the world. (Note to future screenwriters everywhere: none of those lines were ever spoken by their ascribed iconic characters, and therefore cannot be quoted. So, for the sake of my sanity. Stop doing it.) Still, I can count almost daily -- sometimes by the dozens -- the number of times someone refers to a book in the bible that.... does not exist. You hear it on TV. On street corners. Even on movies, where you know that hundreds to thousands of separate individuals must have passed over this little inaccuracy either without noticing, or without knowing the difference.

Call it a public service. More accurately, call it a trivial, OCD-induced rant from a former librarian who will likely conclude this post with a childish snort and a grab for the last piece of Christmas fudge. Still, I feel compelled to at least put it out there.

The last book in the Bible is not Revelations. It's Revelation. Just one. Not plural. No "s".

As I said, it's a little thing. But it drives my poor, compulsive senses absolutely bat-shit. Seriously, it's worse than nails on a chalk board, or biting into tin foil. I view it the way a dog views a vacuum. It's that bad. So if you really feel the need to quote from this particular codex, at least quote it correctly. Please?

Thank you.

I'ma go see about that fudge, now.

19. An Atheist's Christmas Prayer

For weeks now, we’ve all shared a similar American experience. Crowded stores and rushed traffic pacified only by lamppost holiday lights and random greeting cards from those relatives we’d all but forgotten we had. Spirits lifted by music and familial warmth, we avoid caloric overload as best we can. Spirits dampened by thoughts of those who are no longer here to share in our oddly-enjoyable hysteria, we make a hog-like mess of the divinity and peanut brittle on our collective countertops. Some of us -- (me) -- even spend the entire season pointedly wearing Santa hats and adorning our shoes with jingly bells.

Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.

That’s right. Odd as it may seem for Little-Miss-Atheist, the Christmas season is my favorite time of year. Bar none. It’s a holiday that transforms my house into a very interesting place, to put it mildly. My sweet husband tolerates my compulsive need for round-the-clock Christmas carols – largely by vacating the house as much as possible. My son alternates between relieved and terrified that his mother has suddenly become the cheeriest woman on the block. I smile more. I bake more. And, believe it or not, I sing the religious hymns as loudly and as gleefully as every reindeer and Santa mash-up that dashes its way across the radio.

That said, I’ve been sitting on this post for weeks. Partly because I wasn’t sure how to address the topic without sounding dry or self-indulgent. Mostly because I didn’t know whether I had anything to contribute to what has apparently become a controversial subject; and even if I did… whether or not I could adequately express my feelings is another matter entirely.

We all know by now (or at least, we damn well SHOULD) that winter festivals have occurred throughout recorded history; longer, unless I miss my guess. Today we call it Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa. Yesterday we called it Yule, Epiphany, or Saturnalia. Whether it’s a preparation for Wild Hunt, a hopeful salute to the season’s Solstice, a visit from the magi, or even an old Norse feast marked by the sacrificial bloodletting of horses and cattle – the lore and legends are meant to inspire hope for the future, a bit of warmth to pull us through the long nights and harsh weather. Gathering together to consolidate our status as a family, or a community, or a society is a profoundly human need. A deeply-rooted desire that, when fulfilled, leaves us renewed and emotionally capable of moving forward.

In our fledgling years as a civilization, it is events like these that quite literally kept us alive – simply by keeping us together. What happened, then, to turn it into a month-long effort to pull us apart?

Every year, opinion pages, blogs, and announcements across America light up with people desperate to take sides; erecting walls between “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays”, decorated trees and interpretations of tradition. People yell. People push and defend. Turning it into a private war rather than a public celebration.

Again, I have to ask…. What happened?

There is an easy answer, of course. But it is… too easy. I gain nothing from it and neither do you.

So instead, to bridge the gap, to take my small step toward the world peace being wistfully sung for on iPods the nation over, I – an outspoken atheist, rationalist, and skeptic – want to send this small Christmas prayer into the electronic void, not expecting any response. Not really expecting anyone to understand. But hoping I’m wrong on both counts.

This Christmas, I pray that the struggle over the “true meaning” of the holiday is wiped away, replaced by the desire to honor what Christmas means to you and not to your neighbors.
I pray that we as a nation can learn to put aside the party lines and shields of segregation to leave the world better than we found it.
I pray that we as a race can learn to prosper without greed, without indifference.
I pray that the good times outweigh the bad, and that we enter the lives of those we are lucky enough to encounter with the grace and respect that everyone deserves, regardless of their status, regardless of our creed.
I pray we wake up one day with the recognition that – black or white, rich or poor, religious or not – we all want the same things, even if we disagree on how best to achieve them.
I pray that those who need shelter will find it.
I pray that those in pain will find an end to suffering.
I pray for peace.
I pray for hope.
Most of all, I pray that tomorrow will be better than it was today.
For all of us.