For most of my life. I "expected" Christmas to look and feel a certain way. As a kid, Christmas was the one day a year (or so it seemed) that we didn't do any work and just had fun. It was a day of over the top "stuff" and, best of all, my parents undivided attention. One day a year and a heap of 8 year old expectations always met. A very high standard that I expected to maintain throughout adulthood - and certainly into motherhood.
Before, I could mostly control my reality to meet my expectations. There were times when some adult or other worked to thwart the plan, but I was controlling enough to manage them back in line. 30 boxes of decorations and three consecutive 18 hour days in the kitchen generally equalled a Courier & Ives Christmas.
Then, they came.
At first, the little one was manageable. She was a baby. I could nap her into submission. I was bigger than she was.
Then, the middle one. We still outnumbered them, so I still had a fighting chance to make Christmas look like it should. We lost an ornament or two in the battle, but generally I was still ahead overall.
Then - last year. The third one. I gave away a lot last year because we came home from China on December 23rd. I still had the food thanks to my step dad. Two of the children were so grateful I was home they behaved, and the third was jet lagged into compliance. I expected we would be back to normal this year.
It became evident sometime between landing at LAX last December and the end of summer that maybe I might have to adjust some things at Christmas. I would - with the attitude of a martyr - sacrifice my Christmas "vision" for my children.
Sort of.
I sold 1/2 the boxes of decorations.
I served spaghetti in front of "A Charlie Brown Christmas" for Christmas Eve dinner.
Far fewer gifts - and limited outside activities.
Apparently, it was not enough.
Christmas Eve Service. I should be able to take everyone to Christmas Eve service, right? It's a 4pm. It's in a place we know with people we know. It's singing songs they know.
Nope. I am not sure where or when it went sideways, all I know is that at one point Doug, I and three unhappy children were in the narthex leaving my dad all alone in service. We barely made it home in one piece, and it was not without tears from 2/3rds of the littles.
Shouldn't we be able to go to Christmas Eve service without incident? I have given up the over the top house decorations, the plethora of Christmas presents, the six course sit down meals for two days - all I am asking is for Christmas Eve service??
Here's the thing - our every day parenting looks radically different, so why shouldn't our holidays?
I talk all the time about how other people need to let go of their expectations of how we parent and what our family looks like. Turns out the person that needs to let go of expectations is me.
I need to re-align my expectations of what Christmas "should" look like to the reality of what Christmas is for my family. When I "die" to my expectations of what I want for Christmas - willingly and without hesitation, without the presence of any "woe is me" or "aren't I a wonderful mom" - but truly lay them aside, I am living the message of Christmas.
That is more powerful to my children than any Christmas Eve service could be.
It also means that our Christmas' will look different for a while - maybe forever. It means that instead of the Courier & Ives - we might have dance practice with the Rockettes after TV dinner.
Here's the difference between living in expectation and reality - the presence of disappointment. I can chose to live in expectation and carry the disappointment around with me. Or - I can adjust my expectations to what our reality is and embrace fully the life I have chosen through Jesus and be content - truly content.
I chose reality. I chose contentment.
