I have an issue of having romantic notions of things more lofty than what they can possibly deliver.
Take Christmas Eve morning for example. Dan and Holly were making Graham cracker fluff in their kitchen- together.
Did you catch that together part?
Granted Dan was doing most of the whipping and stirring and double broiling and folding and recipe following--- but Holly was right there with him.
I want that! Oh yes ma'am, a romantic notion was born.
I suddenly wanted my husband and I to stand in the kitchen and make graham cracker fluff- together.
Then I wanted us to cheerfully take the kids with us and get swallowed up in the massive crowds of last minute, impatient shoppers- together.
Then I wanted us to go do a family Christmas Eve service project- together.
After that we'd go to the dinner we'd been invited to where we'd sing Christmas carols on key- together.
Finally we'd come home, tuck the kids into bed and settle down to watch a movie I'd rented called "A Christmas Cottage." A movie every squirrel hunter loves to watch with his wife about a man named Thomas Kinkade. You know... the artist that makes light come alive in every painting. We'd do this while snuggling and reflecting on all things swell- together.
All those togetherness thoughts of how our day should be just swept over me and made me feel like I was starring in my own version of a Hallmark movie. One where Karen Carpenter is in the background singing, "Why do birds suddenly appear...every time... you are near? Dun, dun, dee- dun, dun, dee do- close to you."
Sweet.
Everything was just like I'd hoped it would be until my Mr. got up and started getting ready for work.
Hunh?
I'd had several hours of early morning visions of sugar plum togetherness dancing in my head and he's putting on his Chick-fil-A tie and heading out to encourage people to eat more chicken?
Skooos me?
Then we may or may not have had a little Christmas Eve brawl. Complete with the same ol' blah, blah blah, who is more selfish than who talk. We call these growth opportunities in our home.
Ahem.
I was grumpy. He was grumpy. We were just one big 'ol grumpy mess.
Eventually, some compromises were made. He did some chicken flipping while the kids and I braved the crowds of oh-so-happy-probably-had-their-own-growth-opportunity-at-home-this-morning-fellow shoppers.
I had to kill the whole standing in the kitchen making Graham cracker fluff with Karen Carpenter singing in the background- notion. He had to take off work earlier than he wanted and kill a few meetings he'd planned.
And somehow we still made "together" happen.
I think this is my Christmas message this year---Making together happen despite the messy imperfections.
Our pastor recently challenged us with this thought: Is the birth of Christ to you a story or a message?
I loved this question and all the introspection it invited me to do. A story is something that has a beginning, climax, and an end. You walk away feeling inspired for the moment but all too soon tuck that inspiration away and wait for the next story to come along.
A message is something entirely different. A message carries with it a nugget of truth that strikes a chord in your heart so deeply you're compelled to change. Long after the details of the message fades, its affect on you lingers in the best kind of way.
So this year, Christ's birth was no longer just a beautiful, traditional story. Suddenly it has become the catalyst that prompts my soul to find a message- wrapped among the swaddling clothes lying in a manger. A personal, prayerful, soul-rattling message for me.
This year it's to see, look for, discover, embrace and appreciate the beautiful imperfection I call life.
There is beauty in every imperfect aspect of my life, if only I'll make the choice to see it.
So, we may never make graham cracker fluff together on Christmas morning.
And he'd rather (have needles jammed into his finger nails) not watch a movie about Thomas Kinkade's illuminating paintings.
And he's going to return all those hip and happenin' clothes from Old Navy I bought him in favor of camouflage flannel shirts and cargo pants he found at the Costco. The Costco that sells food y'all.
I love him all the same.
I really love him.
I love this beautiful imperfection we call life.
Our life.
Together.
Take Christmas Eve morning for example. Dan and Holly were making Graham cracker fluff in their kitchen- together.
Did you catch that together part?
Granted Dan was doing most of the whipping and stirring and double broiling and folding and recipe following--- but Holly was right there with him.
I want that! Oh yes ma'am, a romantic notion was born.
I suddenly wanted my husband and I to stand in the kitchen and make graham cracker fluff- together.
Then I wanted us to cheerfully take the kids with us and get swallowed up in the massive crowds of last minute, impatient shoppers- together.
Then I wanted us to go do a family Christmas Eve service project- together.
After that we'd go to the dinner we'd been invited to where we'd sing Christmas carols on key- together.
Finally we'd come home, tuck the kids into bed and settle down to watch a movie I'd rented called "A Christmas Cottage." A movie every squirrel hunter loves to watch with his wife about a man named Thomas Kinkade. You know... the artist that makes light come alive in every painting. We'd do this while snuggling and reflecting on all things swell- together.
All those togetherness thoughts of how our day should be just swept over me and made me feel like I was starring in my own version of a Hallmark movie. One where Karen Carpenter is in the background singing, "Why do birds suddenly appear...every time... you are near? Dun, dun, dee- dun, dun, dee do- close to you."
Sweet.
Everything was just like I'd hoped it would be until my Mr. got up and started getting ready for work.
Hunh?
I'd had several hours of early morning visions of sugar plum togetherness dancing in my head and he's putting on his Chick-fil-A tie and heading out to encourage people to eat more chicken?
Skooos me?
Then we may or may not have had a little Christmas Eve brawl. Complete with the same ol' blah, blah blah, who is more selfish than who talk. We call these growth opportunities in our home.
Ahem.
I was grumpy. He was grumpy. We were just one big 'ol grumpy mess.
Eventually, some compromises were made. He did some chicken flipping while the kids and I braved the crowds of oh-so-happy-probably-had-their-own-growth-opportunity-at-home-this-morning-fellow shoppers.
I had to kill the whole standing in the kitchen making Graham cracker fluff with Karen Carpenter singing in the background- notion. He had to take off work earlier than he wanted and kill a few meetings he'd planned.
And somehow we still made "together" happen.
I think this is my Christmas message this year---Making together happen despite the messy imperfections.
Our pastor recently challenged us with this thought: Is the birth of Christ to you a story or a message?
I loved this question and all the introspection it invited me to do. A story is something that has a beginning, climax, and an end. You walk away feeling inspired for the moment but all too soon tuck that inspiration away and wait for the next story to come along.
A message is something entirely different. A message carries with it a nugget of truth that strikes a chord in your heart so deeply you're compelled to change. Long after the details of the message fades, its affect on you lingers in the best kind of way.
So this year, Christ's birth was no longer just a beautiful, traditional story. Suddenly it has become the catalyst that prompts my soul to find a message- wrapped among the swaddling clothes lying in a manger. A personal, prayerful, soul-rattling message for me.
This year it's to see, look for, discover, embrace and appreciate the beautiful imperfection I call life.
There is beauty in every imperfect aspect of my life, if only I'll make the choice to see it.
So, we may never make graham cracker fluff together on Christmas morning.
And he'd rather (have needles jammed into his finger nails) not watch a movie about Thomas Kinkade's illuminating paintings.
And he's going to return all those hip and happenin' clothes from Old Navy I bought him in favor of camouflage flannel shirts and cargo pants he found at the Costco. The Costco that sells food y'all.
I love him all the same.
I really love him.
I love this beautiful imperfection we call life.
Our life.
Together.
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