I’ve been swearing a lot more lately. This is pretty relative, as my roles as a mother and church-goer don’t exactly lend themselves to cussing like a sailor. I’ve just been replacing some of my hecks with hells and darns with damns.
I love Christmas. I’m an only child and December has been a pretty magical month for me most of my life. I’ve always carried on this magic with my kids – looking at Christmas lights, drinking hot chocolate, gift shopping, decorating, Christmas music blasting, and (most importantly I suppose) sweet little advent lessons around the dinner table.
This year, sweet little advent lessons annoy me.
I hate that. I hate this eye roll feeling I get when I’m reading an advent story with my kids – even though my mind agrees with the words! I wish I didn’t feel a little nauseous when I try to do my usual advent devotion.
I think I know the problem: My sweet little white girl bubble has been popped. I can’t put it back together – I shouldn’t anyway. And I can’t wrap it all up, tie it and put a bow on top. To hell with the bow. This year isn’t that sort of year so I don’t know why I expected this Christmas to be that sort of Christmas.
So this year, I’ll be present and I’ll care deeply about and for the people in my home and my life. I’ll still go through some of the motions even though they might not feel magical to me personally. I won’t steal anyone’s joy. I’ll have hope. I’ll read and listen and pray and think about Emmanuel.
I’ll try to find peace with the bows.