Editor’s note: The IJ is reprinting some of the late Beth Ashley’s columns. This is from 2017.

A woman in line at CVS confided that she was having a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit. “The world’s in too much of a mess,” she told me.

I agreed with her, heavy-heartedly.

But when I emptied my basket for checkout, it was full of wrapping paper, red ribbon and paper goods for our traditional Christmas Eve party.

Somehow, we do carry on.

My Christmas list, as usual, is distressingly long — gifts for four sons and their wives, nine grandchildren, two greats and a raft of nieces, nephews and friends.

When I know what a person wants — or needs — I am delighted to buy it. When I am just buying to fulfill an obligation, I cringe.

“Most of us have more things than we can possibly use,” said the lady at CVS.

When the catalogs arrive, when the radio insists on playing “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” over and over, when every store is draped in red and green and silver (and Santa gives ho-ho-hos over the loudspeaker), I want to skip the whole season.

This year, like last, I have given some of my friends a gift from Heifer International, which buys geese or ducks or other farm animals for struggling families in the Third World. It’s not exactly a Christmas protest; it’s a way to make my gift-giving more digestible.

It eases my conscience at having so much.

I know we live in a world padded with goodies — ever-more-scrumptious clothing, ever-more-luscious food and wine, ever-more-amazing techno-toys.

Such things are signs of human evolution, the amazing progression from cave-dwelling to luxury lifestyle.

Far be it for me to pooh-pooh such miracles, though sometimes I wonder just where they will stop. How many more refinements do we need?

But step into any store and the temptations are there: glossily packed gift items filled with bright promise.

So I go to the stores and, despite mental foot-dragging, I buy.

Part of my motivation is the old one — wanting to delight my loved ones with welcome surprises.

Another part is the wish to adhere to old ways. Good or bad, our Christmas tradition has always been excess — lots of gifts, lots of food, lots of mob-scene get-togethers. The goal: that everyone feels safe, cosseted, loved.

A third is to make a statement — that however dark the world seems to be, we will light our own personal candle. We will not allow despair.

How easy it would be, at this juncture in history, to feel swamped by the daily news: drive-by shootings in the East Bay, endless savagery in the Middle East, famine and civil wars all over the globe, hideous murders everywhere.

And yet, and yet.

Around us are so many warm-hearted people, trying so hard to do good.

We have beleaguered friends who have carried on bravely and kids who, despite the temptations, have turned out OK.

There is much to be glad for. Christmas was intended as a time of hope, when all the world’s ugliness is suddenly redeemed.

So we honor its intention as bet we can, trimming the tree, wrapping gifts, ignoring world disaster and rank commercialism. We go to the parties. We hug those we love.

We try to justify our good fortune while knowing guiltily the hardships of so many others.

We succumb to the merriment. After all, we tell ourselves, it is a wonderful life.

Christmas, it’s a season I dread every year. But deep down, it’s a season I end up loving.