Dear sister friend,
Last night. Oh, last night.
Last night, I thought we might have to reschedule Christmas this year. Maybe reschedule the next year altogether for a few years later.
There seemed to be undistinguishable noise blaring from every direction. The TV was "wah wah wah-ing" like Charlie Brown's teacher. Someone was yelling at Fortnite. YouTube was on an unstoppable loop from the home computer, playing one Ellen tearjerker after another. The guest toilet was running. How many plumbers does it take to stop a running toilet? The cats were padding up and down the stairs. Too.much.noise.
Christmas decorations were tipped over and on the wrong kind of display. All.over.the.floor. Instead of inhabitants simply bending over and collecting the discarded items, they were just being stepped over or stepped on. My special things were just an irrelevant mess to everyone else. Someone attempted to make homemade Christmas cookies and there was sugar and flour everywhere. There was a mess in every direction. I couldn't take three steps without a leaning tower of chaos tumbling over. Too.much.mess.
And the Christmas tree? The anchor of all the decorations? Half lit. (I'm pretty sure this is where the drunk term comes from) Not the top half or the bottom half, but both halves minus the middle. It took all I had to muster up the courage to begin the lighting ceremony in the first place. And it is a ceremony. A spiritual one where you get REAL close to Jesus. Am I the only one that needs counseling just to begin stringing lights? In college I actually had a job decorating people's homes and businesses for Christmas. And now, here I am, just a decorating shell of myself, terrified of the mental spiral that could result from opening the box of string lights. Sure as ever, I got all the lights on the tree and for some mysterious reason, I ran out of lights three-quarters of the way up, even though I have gone to Wal-Mart for the last ten years and retrieved MORE lights THREE- QUARTERS OF THE WAY UP. So, I should have ten times MORE lights than necessary. But here.we.are.
I digress.
Back in position. Lights are up three-quarters of the way. Out of lights.
I will not spiral. I will deep breathe. The self-help-grunting has begun.
I grab my keys and head to Wal-Mart. (For those unaware, this is an especially special Wal-Mart)
Two boxes of lights. Check.
Return home. Check.
I find the plug in. I plug in the new light strand. Yessss. Everything works. Until it doesn't. Which is 3.2 seconds later. But which lights go out? The ones in the middle. Not the ones I just purchased. Oh no. That would be way too easy. And I can't find the plug ins to everything else, because I am a good decorator and have buried and disguised them well. So, strand by strand, the mental spiral begins. The room literally feels like it's spinning. It is December 1st and I can't even get a tree decorated. And the elf can't come until the tree is decorated, right? And if the elf doesn't come, then Santa won't know, then presents won't come, and my children will be scarred and emotionally unstable forever.
It's hot. I need to sit down.
Then the tears come. And.will.not.stop. I have an undecorated tree and snot coming from my nose. I need a psychiatrist.
My chest hurts. Not pretend-in-my head-because-I'm stressed-out hurt. But literally hurts. It is December 1st and "everyone" in America has their Christmas tree up and are making beautiful memories with Banjo the elf and I am not. I am a hot mess. With only three-quarters enough lights.
The pressure and expectation was more than my heart could bear. Social media had once again convinced me that everyone else was together. Everyone else. But me. The same "everyone else" talks I have regularly with my pre-teens apparently don't apply to me.
Probably what I needed more than anything was a good night's sleep. And quiet. Just a moment of peace and stillness. And did I mention quiet? Decompression of any variety could not hurt.
You won't get a lecture from me over the meaning of Christmas. Without fail, I get sucked into the pageantry and tradition of it all, every.single.year. And after some kind of episode, jerk myself (wailing) back into a deeper awareness and evaluation, of both myself and society.
A friend and I were talking today about how, as Christians, every day should feel like Advent. Every moment of our lives should be lived in anticipation. Anticipation for the coming of utopia. Not frustration that we are not in utopia right now. That's what this is about. The conflict of the human self and the divine.
Yes, Fluffy Pringleplaid's children will look like pictures from a magazine. And even though you'll tell yourself they secretly hate her, you also know it's possible they are flawless AND love her dearly. And Mrs. Candy Mistletoes will have her house decorated like the North Pole by 7 p.m. on Thanksgiving evening, while you sit in your house with three-fourths of the lights on December 2nd. And when I mature, I'll admire Fluffy and Candy, for their organization and renewable prescription of Xanax.
But until then, I have established the three-quarters club. I am President and can't move forward without a quorum. This isn't about mocking Pinterest masters or the hospitality queens. On my best days, I, too, can host a flawless party and copy a Pinterest activity with perfection.
But, I cannot do it all. All.the.time.
And I am not a failure because I did not do it this time.
Those pictures we see on social media are real. In a cropped and edited sort of way. Houses really do get decorated flawlessly a whole month and a half before Christmas. Mothers really do think to order monogrammed or matching clothes and schedule Christmas card photos by August 1st. People really do have other people over...in the SAME homes they LIVE in. Wow. But I promise you, they do not do all the things, all.the.time.
When your heart and mind start telling you otherwise this season, remind yourself, say self, "I belong to a club to which many are not a member. I am a card-carrying and voting member of the three-quarters club. There may be a 100 percent club out there somewhere, but that is not my club. My membership is here." And with that remember that a club isn't a club with only one member. There are more members than you know. When you see your fellow members out and about, you don't need a secret handshake. Just a smile and a nod says, "I see your unmoved elf and raise you an undecorated tree." She'll smile back and you'll know...she's in the club, but more than anything, that you're not alone.
Last night. Oh, last night.
Last night, I thought we might have to reschedule Christmas this year. Maybe reschedule the next year altogether for a few years later.
There seemed to be undistinguishable noise blaring from every direction. The TV was "wah wah wah-ing" like Charlie Brown's teacher. Someone was yelling at Fortnite. YouTube was on an unstoppable loop from the home computer, playing one Ellen tearjerker after another. The guest toilet was running. How many plumbers does it take to stop a running toilet? The cats were padding up and down the stairs. Too.much.noise.
Christmas decorations were tipped over and on the wrong kind of display. All.over.the.floor. Instead of inhabitants simply bending over and collecting the discarded items, they were just being stepped over or stepped on. My special things were just an irrelevant mess to everyone else. Someone attempted to make homemade Christmas cookies and there was sugar and flour everywhere. There was a mess in every direction. I couldn't take three steps without a leaning tower of chaos tumbling over. Too.much.mess.
And the Christmas tree? The anchor of all the decorations? Half lit. (I'm pretty sure this is where the drunk term comes from) Not the top half or the bottom half, but both halves minus the middle. It took all I had to muster up the courage to begin the lighting ceremony in the first place. And it is a ceremony. A spiritual one where you get REAL close to Jesus. Am I the only one that needs counseling just to begin stringing lights? In college I actually had a job decorating people's homes and businesses for Christmas. And now, here I am, just a decorating shell of myself, terrified of the mental spiral that could result from opening the box of string lights. Sure as ever, I got all the lights on the tree and for some mysterious reason, I ran out of lights three-quarters of the way up, even though I have gone to Wal-Mart for the last ten years and retrieved MORE lights THREE- QUARTERS OF THE WAY UP. So, I should have ten times MORE lights than necessary. But here.we.are.
I digress.
Back in position. Lights are up three-quarters of the way. Out of lights.
I will not spiral. I will deep breathe. The self-help-grunting has begun.
I grab my keys and head to Wal-Mart. (For those unaware, this is an especially special Wal-Mart)
Two boxes of lights. Check.
Return home. Check.
I find the plug in. I plug in the new light strand. Yessss. Everything works. Until it doesn't. Which is 3.2 seconds later. But which lights go out? The ones in the middle. Not the ones I just purchased. Oh no. That would be way too easy. And I can't find the plug ins to everything else, because I am a good decorator and have buried and disguised them well. So, strand by strand, the mental spiral begins. The room literally feels like it's spinning. It is December 1st and I can't even get a tree decorated. And the elf can't come until the tree is decorated, right? And if the elf doesn't come, then Santa won't know, then presents won't come, and my children will be scarred and emotionally unstable forever.
It's hot. I need to sit down.
Then the tears come. And.will.not.stop. I have an undecorated tree and snot coming from my nose. I need a psychiatrist.
My chest hurts. Not pretend-in-my head-because-I'm stressed-out hurt. But literally hurts. It is December 1st and "everyone" in America has their Christmas tree up and are making beautiful memories with Banjo the elf and I am not. I am a hot mess. With only three-quarters enough lights.
The pressure and expectation was more than my heart could bear. Social media had once again convinced me that everyone else was together. Everyone else. But me. The same "everyone else" talks I have regularly with my pre-teens apparently don't apply to me.
Probably what I needed more than anything was a good night's sleep. And quiet. Just a moment of peace and stillness. And did I mention quiet? Decompression of any variety could not hurt.
You won't get a lecture from me over the meaning of Christmas. Without fail, I get sucked into the pageantry and tradition of it all, every.single.year. And after some kind of episode, jerk myself (wailing) back into a deeper awareness and evaluation, of both myself and society.
A friend and I were talking today about how, as Christians, every day should feel like Advent. Every moment of our lives should be lived in anticipation. Anticipation for the coming of utopia. Not frustration that we are not in utopia right now. That's what this is about. The conflict of the human self and the divine.
Yes, Fluffy Pringleplaid's children will look like pictures from a magazine. And even though you'll tell yourself they secretly hate her, you also know it's possible they are flawless AND love her dearly. And Mrs. Candy Mistletoes will have her house decorated like the North Pole by 7 p.m. on Thanksgiving evening, while you sit in your house with three-fourths of the lights on December 2nd. And when I mature, I'll admire Fluffy and Candy, for their organization and renewable prescription of Xanax.
But until then, I have established the three-quarters club. I am President and can't move forward without a quorum. This isn't about mocking Pinterest masters or the hospitality queens. On my best days, I, too, can host a flawless party and copy a Pinterest activity with perfection.
But, I cannot do it all. All.the.time.
And I am not a failure because I did not do it this time.
Those pictures we see on social media are real. In a cropped and edited sort of way. Houses really do get decorated flawlessly a whole month and a half before Christmas. Mothers really do think to order monogrammed or matching clothes and schedule Christmas card photos by August 1st. People really do have other people over...in the SAME homes they LIVE in. Wow. But I promise you, they do not do all the things, all.the.time.
When your heart and mind start telling you otherwise this season, remind yourself, say self, "I belong to a club to which many are not a member. I am a card-carrying and voting member of the three-quarters club. There may be a 100 percent club out there somewhere, but that is not my club. My membership is here." And with that remember that a club isn't a club with only one member. There are more members than you know. When you see your fellow members out and about, you don't need a secret handshake. Just a smile and a nod says, "I see your unmoved elf and raise you an undecorated tree." She'll smile back and you'll know...she's in the club, but more than anything, that you're not alone.
Comments