Last year, about a week before Christmas, my family spent a fun afternoon putting the finishing touches on our neighborhood cookie boxes – around 60 of them – and set them aside to deliver the following day. A few hours later, we were awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of my daughter throwing up. She got sick 25 more times over the next 18 hours, and you can probably guess what happened next.
Yup. We all got it.
Hundreds of cookies went in the trash to avoid contaminating the neighbors. Our gingerbread house got canceled for the first time since we started the tradition. Our kids missed the entire last week of school before break and all of the fun activities that go along with it.
Everything that we typically associated with Christmas got canceled.
But oh how this mama tried desperately to save Christmas. To no avail.
At last, Christmas Eve arrived. While we were mostly recovered, my son wasn’t quite well enough to spend time out in public. Still, we were fine to drive around in our quarantined car and look at Christmas lights. It was my last attempt to salvage the final, waning moments of the holiday season.
But as those moments continued to wane, it became clear it was hopeless. We got no further than the Starbucks drive-through to pick up a treat when I realized nobody cared and they were all simply going along with my plan in order to make mama happy.
The final straw occurred when I took a drink of my coffee and realized they forgot to put ESPRESSO in my LATTE. As I sipped my sweetened steamed milk, I finally threw in the towel. I declared our outing over and gave my husband my blessing to just drive us all back home. We piled out of the car, travel-weary from the short trip, and went to bed at 7pm.
No Christmas Eve movie. No holiday pajamas. No anticipation of the morning to come. Just a silent night and an exhausted, bone-weary family.
The next morning arrived and it was like a miracle had happened. Everyone was back to their normal selves. They had energy, they had humor, they had joy. We had a wonderfully quiet Christmas with our little family and even though we’d been home together exclusively for the past week and a half, the day felt different.
It felt special.
It felt redeemed.
Mama, we know it. We hear it every Christmas. That Christmas is not dependent on the traditions and gifts and gatherings. Heck, even the Grinch learned his lesson.
Still, we hold tight. We hold onto those traditions at the expense of our sanity and fear for our kids’ happiness if they miss some of the magic. But the real magic of the season still comes – whether we make it happen or not. And while most of us claim to know that, we don’t trust that it will actually happen.
Mama, make some space this season. Make some space for the magic to arrive without you orchestrating it. Choose the peace of Jesus over the frantic pace of the holidays.
Last year’s norovirus definitely didn’t feel like a gift, but it changed our Christmas in the very best way. When everything we associated with Christmas was stripped away, Christmas remained.
And that was the true gift.
