“You’ve only got 18 Christmases with your kids. Make ‘em magical, Mama!”
Parents, no doubt you’ve also come across chipper little guilt trips like this (conveniently linked to a Pinterest board with about a hundred ideas for Christmas crafts, activities, baking projects, and clever traditions guaranteed to make the holidays magical and memorable) while you’ve been absent-mindedly scrolling through social media.
While I’ve worked hard to free myself from the burden of unrealistic expectations through limiting my social media use and choosing not to let comparison to others rob me of my joy, occasionally I’ll feel that all-familiar mom-guilt creep in and I’ll start questioning if I’m doing enough for my kids. Then I’ll jump right on the bandwagon of planning out a “magical” Christmas season full of wondrous activities that my kids may or may not even enjoy.
Well, with Christmas just days away, I can officially say that none of my plans have come to fruition, and the Christmas season in the Miller household has been anything but “magical.” For the last week and a half, ALL FIVE of us Millers have been fighting the virus to end all viruses. We’ve fared fevers, chills, bodyaches, and debilitating exhaustion. Only to roll into phase two consisting of sore throats, coughs, and never-ending congestion. With young kids, our home is no stranger to sickness, but this has got to be the sickest our family has ever been. All at the same time. Earlier in the week, Daniel and I alternated spending half the day in bed while the other had the excruciating task of caring for three sick kids. When you barely have the energy to lift your hair dryer, lifting and caring for your disabled 5 year old son is nearly impossible. It’s been rough over here to put it mildly.
Over the last 10+ days, my kids have missed their class Christmas parties and ice-skating field trip. We’ve baked exactly zero gingerbread cookies and cut out zero paper snowflakes. We haven’t made treats for our neighbors or walked through Winter Wonderland Christmas Light displays. We haven’t made salt dough ornaments or decorated sugar cookies. We’ve been too busy just trying to survive.
I’ve found myself bemoaning the lost time and moping about how this Christmas season has not gone to plan. Yet, in the midst of my pity party, God showed up. He worked through the hearts and generosity of His people to show our family love and provision in incredible ways.
This week, we have had multiple friends show up with homemade chicken soup, breakfast burritos, and full dinners. Bags have been delivered to our front porch full of boxes of tea, popsicles, crackers, orange slices and countless easy snacks for the kids. There have been bags of puzzles and coloring books meant to quietly entertain our kids. Friends have grocery shopped for us and walked our dog when we could barely get off the couch.
With each unexpected front porch delivery, I found myself crying at the realization of my very own “George Bailey” moment. If you’ve somehow made it this far in life without watching It’s A Wonderful Life, the final scene displays George Bailey, completely down on his luck on his very own Christmas that had not gone to plan. There are unwarranted charges of fraud against him and there is a warrant out for his arrest. Without any explanation apart from “George is in trouble,” Bailey’s entire community rallies around him to raise funds and show their support for their friend— no questions asked.
Still from It’s a Wonderful Life (1946). | Paramount Pictures
I felt so humbled to be the recipient of that kind of love this week. To have friends pause their busy lives to show up for you in practical ways, expecting nothing in return—this is a true gift that reflects the heart of God. I’m convinced that there is a special reward in heaven for those who don’t simply ask “do you need anything?” but train their eyes to see the needs, and then jump in to fill them.
In addition to showing me His care and provision this week, God has also forced me to slow down long enough to think about another Christmas that certainly did not go to plan—the very first Christmas. Granted, young Mary was not strapped with the burden of creating a “magical Christmas” for a housefull of kids—she was merely tasked with bringing her firstborn child, God incarnate, into the world. No big deal.
An unwed pregnant teenager, no doubt dealing with the scrutiny and judgment of others, Mary’s “Christmas season” was already off to a rocky start. Factor in over a weeklong roadtrip from Nazareth to Bethlehem either on foot or on a donkey for an untimely census. Imagine arriving in town, 9 months pregnant and exhausted, only to have door after door shut in your face when you inquired after a place to sleep. With no other options, Mary and Joseph settled into a filthy barn to rest for the night. I imagine Joseph desperately making a makeshift “bed” out of a pile of hay for his betrothed. Mary—miles from home, her mother, her friends, or any familiar female companions, would prepare to deliver her very first baby into the world with only the help of her young, inexperienced fiance. I can’t begin to wrap my mind around the fear Mary must have felt in this most life-altering moment of her life. When her baby boy entered the world, Mary did not lay him down in the hand-crafted cradle that surely awaited him at home, but instead gently placed the King of Kings in a humble feeding trough.
I’m guessing almost every detail of the first Christmas story we’ve all become so accustomed to did not go according to Mary’s plan. What kind of birth plan involves being exhausted, far from home, and surrounded by animals for anyone’s baby, let alone God’s son?
Yet, even when all did not go according to Mary’s and Joseph’s plans, God still showed up. He still accomplished what He set out to do. God came to gift us. He came to bless us. To provide for us. Not the other way around. All we do is show up. He does the rest. Even the wise men’s generous, well-meaning gifts for the King paled in comparison to the gift He was bringing to them—Himself.
So as I think on the Christmas season we are currently having, and I recognize just how empty-handed I am in what I’ve had to offer my kids and my God—it’s as if God has invited me to sit back, relax, put my slippered feet up and rest in the truth that it’s not about me and what I bring to the table anyway. This year, He’s invited me to slow down and marvel at His provision, love, and care for me and my family that He’s showing just as much today as He did 2000 years ago.
Christmas has never been about ice skating or how many cookies we bake. It’s not about how much “magic” I can pump into the month of December. It’s only ever been about God’s great love for us. This year, we haven’t done many of the traditional Christmas things we typically do. We’ve had to let a lot go. But we have sat around our kitchen table over bowls of chicken soup, discussing the names and attributes of the God we are celebrating this season. Jehovah Jireh—The Lord Provides— felt especially personal this year.
Good Shepherd 