It’s been one of those weeks. Thanksgiving fell early, we traveled, we had a long trek home in an ice storm that added three hours to our trip. I had PMS. I did not deal well with the ensuing twelve loads of post-trip laundry and then the mountain to be folded.
I kept thinking it would get easier but it didn’t. I felt rushed the whole way through. I have an upcoming dress rehearsal and Sunday morning church performance. There was scheduling drama. The kids had a major specialist appointment after a four-month wait that required my husband to take a day off of work to shuttle them to and fro and then to school, the day now half over.
We hadn’t picked out our tree and decorated it the weekend after Thanksgiving, which has become our long-standing tradition, the house wasn’t decorated at all really. The beautiful fall wreath I had made just two months ago taunted me from the front door instead of gladdening my heart as I came and went.
This is the exact opposite of what I wanted.
I had been trying desperately to avoid the Christmas crush, to make room for quiet, peace and contemplation. I had stacks of Christmas books to read to the kids. The majority of our school subjects were being covered as part of Christmas and Advent. The others we lightened or dropped altogether.
I hurried to put up the knitted Advent calendar I had made for the children last year. Tracked down the audio files for the audio advent calendar we so enjoyed. I made sure I had my new personal Advent devotionals ready to go on my Kindle.
I felt as though I was so far behind and I could feel the panic that I was going to miss all the magic and mystery of this time of year.
Alexandra Kuykendall says that mothers birth Christmas. It began with Mary but for the most part, it continues with us. We make the magic happen, and at times it’s exhausting. Sometimes I just want to drive to cabin in the mountains with a bag of drizzle corn, some favorite Christmas cookies and some cheese balls (as a child, opening Peanut’s cheese balls in our Christmas stocking was a great moment) with a few good books and my Christmas CD’s. I might even bring my knitting.
An ideal Christmas would include lovely food I had to neither make nor clean up. I’d sit by a crackling fire (propane or natural gas is fine too, I’m not a purist) with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate. To experience peace and rest. When I sing Silent Night I find myself continually struck by the irony. Sleep in heavenly peace. Yes, I want that too.
But that’s not a modern Christmas. Heck, that’s not my life on a regular day of the year, let alone during a season as special as Christmas.
How do I birth Christmas for my little family without emptying myself to the point of uncaring, apathetic exhaustion? Click To TweetI remember how I felt after my two sons were born. I was no longer a first-time mother and I thought surely this whole giving birth process would get easier. As it turns out, for me, it didn’t. A prodromal labor followed by hemorrhaging and a near OR visit. Then an unplanned natural labor followed by hemorrhaging again, and lots of loss of consciousness. Both of which left me too exhausted to lift my arms let alone love and bond with my babies. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I didn’t feel empowered, I felt like a survivor.
Obviously Christmas shouldn’t be as exhausting as childbirth but I often think we forget that when we pour ourselves out without reserve, we can do ourselves and our families a disservice. If I resent that I have to make 12 different kinds of Christmas cookies, I probably won’t enjoy bonding with my daughter in the process. I’m better off settling on three. I don’t have to read 25 new Advent or Christmas books. A new book each day might be fun, but so would rereading a favorite each week and being really engaged while I do it, instead of mentally tracking my to-do list.
My kids are still on the young side, they aren’t yet comparing their Christmas experience with those of friends and peers. Sometimes I put too much pressure on myself to create a Disney level experience when a simple, quiet celebration is just as welcome.
I want to stop rushing. I want to pause and experience this season I love so much. To ponder what peace on earth and goodwill toward men looks like in my daily life.
I feel like when we do it right, Advent should be the white space that gives us that time. Not just a list of things to do, but time carved out to be. Hours and days left deliberately unscheduled so we can breathe, rest, and contemplate.
If we are to sing "Let Every Heart, Prepare Him Room" and mean it, we must be willing to clear away some of the clutter and not allow more to enter. Click To TweetTomorrow we get our Christmas tree. Sunday night I want to share a new Christmas movie with my husband. Other than that, I have left lots of open space and I’m resisting the urge to fill it full of holiday fun.
Certainly, we will do other activities and participate in various traditions, but I refuse to pack the calendar. I will try my best to avoid working myself into a frenzied exhaustion. But I will be looking for and actively embracing the white space to give me room to experience this holy and beautiful season.
It’s not what I expected,
this dreadful Advent season,
by God Himself rejected,
and many friends are leavin’.
There has been much loss to bear,
and now will come a little more;
is it just that God don’t care,
or is He settling a score?
Yes, you’re right, I don’t speak true;
He isn’t doing this for fun.
When moanin’ ’bout woes I accrue,
remember that He gave His Son.
And I find my feet, not as a poser,
on the Via Dolorosa.
wow did you really write all of that in five minutes! Wholly molely! Great post. Thank you for the reminder of leaving white space.
This one was more than 5 minutes. I started writing and kept going until I came to the end of the thought. 😁 I like to think of it as FMF inspired. Glad you enjoyed it.
Amen!