Was this how Mary felt? Sometimes I wonder how much of our perfectly placed nativities actually resemble that original night in Bethlehem. Somehow the stable dung piles never get painted into those heavenly-lit scenes, though I am sure they were copious. After having children, it is harder to forget the pain of childbirth that was real for Mary that night. Despite her divine infant, and perhaps because of Him, I don't think she was spared the pain. But neither was she spared the joy.
I think of the moments that make my Christmases special, and how my favorite things have changed over the years. I used to love eating the treats given to us by neighbors, but now the best part is leaving cookies on doorsteps and the worst part is all the houses we drive by that I wish we could fit into our budget, because they do fit into our hearts.
I used to love attending the endless parties with family and friends, and now I find the joy in planning the gatherings. I loved listening to Christmas music for weeks and weeks, but even the best of Kurt Bestor and Anne Murray cannot compare to the slightly off-key choir that is our family of five, singing a song about Jesus each evening before bed.
I used to love the anticipation of opening gifts early on Christmas morning; that wait has turned into something so much harder as I wait for my loved ones to open the gifts I spent hours making or carefully choosing. I love to find and give the perfect thing. I hate it when I can't find anything good enough to express my feelings, gratitude, and love.
I used to love waking up in the wee hours of Christmas morning to see the family room lit only by the lights on the tree, stockings overflowing and mountains of gifts blocking walkways. Now, those scenes can't compare to the feelings I have as I stay up late with my husband, smiling and whispering as we assemble our family's Christmas. There may be less gifts, but there is no shortage of love!
I loved listening to my mom read "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" every night and watching "Elf" and "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" with my siblings, wrapped in a blanket. Now I delight in the sparkly picture books my children beg me to read on repeat. I've even learned to love Trolls Holiday, despite watching it more than a dozen times with a three-year-old cuddled on my lap.
My holidays were wonderful as a child, but...nothing compares to holidays now. Every moment is special, even my husband's eye rolls as I spend another evening with Shutterfly while he watches basketball on TV. Although my distractions annoy him, he knows how important every single detail is to me, and because he loves me, he goes along for the sleigh ride. He even puts up Christmas lights at the beginning of November because who knows how long the pristine fall weather is going to last along the Wasatch Front.
I climb into bed happily exhausted every single night, because creating magic takes a lot of energy. I try to ignore the piled up cookie sheets and crusted loaf pans, because time is always short and it is more important to make all the things than clean up all the messes. I mourn over the service I can't do and the charities I can't donate to. I wish there were more of me to go around. I rub lotion into my cracked hands, because I've spent my days changing diapers, making bottles, and helping a little boy go potty and the repeated hot water washings have done a number on my hands.
This is my life right now. This is my best Christmas pageant ever. It looks nothing like I thought it would, just like the scene at Jesus' birth was probably nothing like Mary anticipated. And yet, like Mary, I am grateful for the craziness and chaos and the crowds because I hold in my arms a precious gift from God.
Although the world spins around us, we are in our own little bubble, just me and a baby who will grow up too fast.
