Unwrapping Holiday Emotions

The complexity of holiday overwhelm and end-of-year grief as a mother with no time for it.

Reading time about five minutes.

Instrumental holiday music dances between background conversations. The whole house feels like a museum and I feel my heart swoon. This could be the home of my dreams, I think.

Little footsteps pound pound pound toward me across the light hardwood floor. MAMA.

I pull my attention away from the art collection and look at my two year old daughter bury her face into my pants; she wipes a booger onto the black fabric.

How easy for me to slip back into the old desires while forgetting the answered prayers. Before I began knowing Christ, before I got clean, before I started asking God to help me desire things outside myself, I was desiring everything of the world.

I often imagined the 31 year old me to be elegantly living in beautiful clothes surrounded by art like this. I imagined being single and drinking red wine while reading a book.

I imagined planning my next worldly vacation with an Otis Redding record playing in the corner. When I walked into the host’s space on Christmas Eve, my eyes could have had heart emojis over them.

But overtime my desires became exchanged for prayers. My sense of self was traded in for more of Christ. The worldly wine drinking Chanel was married and praying for motherhood. I had desired different things and this beautiful space I stood in was no longer my dream home.

My dream home is not a space.

It is the crinkle of mischief around my husband’s eyes.

It is the heat of my daughter’s cheek laying against my chest.

My home is the sound of her feet and laughter running around our bedroom.

This year has been a hard one. Sometimes it feels like we have been stripped of everything we had a year before: jobs, savings, health, and our own place to call home. We have gone to the food bank and have worked as much as the week allows. There are daily prayers of gratitude mixed in with grief.

Thank God, for the hope we have in his ability to redeem all things, even if the hope feels as small as a mustard seed. Thank God again that all he asks of us is faith, even small faith, that has room to grow when cultivated. What grows this faith? I believe it’s a mixture of waiting, trials, and looking back at where we came from.

Christmas felt like another difficult weekend for me. Did it feel like that for you?

Routines were let go, but every attempt to be flexible was equivalent to bending a brick. There were many times when I attempted to take a nap and it was interrupted by my daughter, whose energy was unmatched this holiday.

We spent the night with my parents and sister to give her a big Christmas morning experience and it truly was; she was overwhelmed by presents. I ignored the tug of my stomach as she opened her small gifts from mom and dad and turned to the giant pile from grandparents playing Santa.

They had provided a wonderful backdrop for her this year: big beautiful tree, plentiful plates of cookies, and gifts for all three of us.

At church there were no other kids (I assume most families opted for the Sunday Christmas Eve services). As soon as I had told Eliza to set a good example as she was the only child in the small service, I had to take her to the nursery to cry for ten minutes.

While the pastor shared communion at the altar and songs were sung with joy, I bowed my head with elbows resting on my knees, my head buried in my hands.

Lord, help me be more kind, patient, and slow. Help me let go of the hurt of this year, particularly the people who hurt our family. Help me find restoration and peace with you. Amen.

Another nap opportunity was lost after church. I ignored the acidic stomach and downed caffeine to make room for more family time. More generosity from my family over dinner and gifts. More toddler tantrums and more things to do.

More, more, more.

On the drive home in the dark, the gifts filled our car to the brim but I still felt empty. Surely gratitude should replace this sense of loss?

I told Joey how I feel like I’m striving to be more patient and peaceful and I still feel like I have this edge. Like I’m always stressed and I can’t be the wife or mom I want to be.

My husband said that one time a stranger complimented him on having such a sweet and calm kid at the park. He told them it was mostly because he had a sweet and loving wife who was always doing her best.

And I burst into ugly tears because that right there was the gift of this Christmas I didn’t know I needed. I had desired to be seen.

The day after Christmas was the second gift: a slow morning. We woke up after a restful sleep and had a calm playtime. Then we went back to bed to cuddle and I worked without the expectation for great productivity.

What might they say about me one day when I’ve passed on and my child speaks of her mother? I hope that she mentions how I tried to be like Christ.

I was never perfect but always willing to learn.