Christmas Thanksgiving

Lights glisten softly on the Christmas tree and there is a faint glimmer from a holiday scented candle glowing in the corner. That is the end of tranquility in my scene.  An upturned deck of cards lies scattered on the coffee table, a remnant of an impromptu made up game. Diapers, a sock, a blanket, remote controls for an xbox that doesn't even work; these things litter my floor. Sounds of joy, shuffling objects, and boys at play arise not very quietly from the quite time that is supposed to be happing downstairs. Dishes  fill the sink even though I have done the dishes twice already today.  The day is grey, I have not showered and have yet to contribute anything measurable to the world. Yet I am content. 

I have had to bash away some thoughts today that have tried to convince me otherwise. It can be easy to get discouraged at Christmastime, just like any other.  I am a lover of tradition and special occasions. Perhaps you can relate? In your desire to make things memorable you plan lists and imagine all the things you could do to make Christmas special. Cards for all,  filled with adorable pictures of your family looking Christmassy, where all the children look at the camera, smile, don't grab anyone, aren't drooling, are in focus and just generally look like they should be on the cover of a magazine. Then there is the baking. It would be so nice to make up trays for all the neighbors, your business associates, the people you work with, teachers, friends, lost strangers searching for Christ in the dark and lonely ally ways. You wouldn't want just any tray, of course, but something with splendor. Dozens of sparkly cookies, personalized for each person, loaves of festive bread, candy made from the heart with love and chocolate. This would be just the thing! Then there is giving. It would be great to teach the children that it is better to give than receive. The best would be to go to the angel tree and pick out a card for each child, and buy a thoughtful gift and have it returned promptly. It would be good to help the less fortunate, or those who are alone. Volunteering at a shelter, passing out warm clothing, giving to those in need. Also there is the true meaning of Christmas. It would be nice to have an advent calendar with stories, songs, prayers and crafts each day showing the children about the wise men, the star, the stable. All of these would be taught in great detail as the family gathered around the hearth, embracing the deep meaning and being transformed forever. Then there is fun! There should be sleigh rides, breakfast with Santa, trips to live nativities, family ice skating outings, to look at lights, gingerbread houses.  The list goes on. Don't even get me started on decorating and gift wrapping. 

So many things that could be done so perfectly. The memories would nourish our children into old age and warm their hearts through winters to come. Can you see it now? 

But then like a ton of bricks, reality comes crashing into a your fluffy white snow-filled dreams.   You are pregnant, nauseas, sick, unable to get off the couch, meanwhile the tree of sharing has come and gone.  The stomach flu comes for a visit in your house, no breakfast with santa, no gingerbread, no lights.  When picture taking time arrives it seems someone has mistakenly told the children to reenact a torture scene from a low budget WWII movie; there is screaming, horrified facial expressions and sighs of unimaginable exasperation.  Someone is teething, causing ungodly sleep loss at night, there goes the advent calendar, the crafts, the wise men.  Life is full of bills to pay, emails to answer, laundry to sort, poopies to change, oowies to kiss and still the people want to be fed.  Getting a shower can seem like a lofty ambition, let alone delivering anything edible  to the neighbors. 

The good news is that where reality comes crashing into expectation is the perfect intersection for an encounter with Jesus. He has met me there many a time (Hello first year of marriage!).  In that moment he reminds me that I still have a choice. I may not get to choose a spotless house full of perfectly executed traditions and all my dreams coming true, but I do have a choice.  I can choose to be thankful. That thankfulness is more beautiful to God than any foil lined, bow ensconced present I could wrap. That thankfulness is more impacting in the lives of my children than 600 sleigh rides and a life-sized gingerbread house could ever be. That thankfulness is what takes me from being disappointed about my lack to feeling like the most radically blessed, privileged and favored wife and mother that ever walked the face of the earth. Thank you Jesus! What a gift.