Princess peace

I wish I could report that we’re preparing well and on track to celebrate a Peace-filled Christmas around here. But that would be far from true. The reality is we’re anxious and angsty and all a little more at each other than usual. I have high expectations year round, but particularly so at this time of year. And, high expectations + extra intensity rarely makes for a happy home.

I have a history of making Christmas more complicated than necessary. Too often I have these visions of things we could do as a family that I’m certain will start a great new holiday tradition or at least be a fun outing. I’ll hear about a festival, an activity, or some special event, and get all excited about going… all the while neglecting to take into account the reality of crowds, moods, or personalities. As a result, nine times out of ten my vision for these outings turn into more of a calamity than the Norman Rockwell-ish good time I hoped it would be.

Several years ago I saw an advertisement for a local church’s “Walk Through Bethlehem” {with live animals}, and I knew this would be the perfect Christmas event to take the girls to on a nice Sunday afternoon. What could be more sacred and special? So off we went with a 4-year-old, 3-year-old, and a newborn in tow.

As it turned out, many, many other people also thought that a walk through Bethlehem would be great Sunday afternoon entertainment. So the “walk” was more of a “crawl” and then a “stand in line and wait your turn” type of a thing. After averting a couple of meltdowns in the streets of Jerusalem and speed-feeding M&M’s to an impatient preschooler, I remember the toddler losing it, thrashing around, and yelling for all to hear, “I wanna see the baby! WHERE IS BABY GEE-SUS??”

At long last, when we did finally arrive at the stable to see the sleeping baby “Jesus,” the only one doing any crying was our own baby. At the top of her lungs. And, there was no room at the inn for a diaper change.

A great time was had by all. And thus began my tradition of planning seasonal outings that don’t go quite as planned.

The following year I took us on a more secular outing to see Santa. Unfortunately, Santa had a diabetic episode just before it was our turn to speak with him. When he finally reappeared from behind his cottage at the North Pole, he was sweating and sipping a Coke. The middle child was over it and the youngest member of our party had fallen asleep. It made for a great picture:

More recently I have tried to make the process of getting a tree special. A couple of years ago we made our first trip out to a local tree farm. I naively thought the girls {and Rosie} would think this whole experience was magical. Instead, Rosie barked incessantly at the other patrons and opted to do her business in the middle of the farm, which instantly kills the festive aroma of fresh evergreens. Meanwhile, the girls were only interested in the concessions: in this case, the hot chocolate. We wound up buying a pre-cut tree and calling it done.

And, of course, there was the year I thought it would be fun to kick off the season with a trip to see the lights and decorations at Opryland in Nashville… coincidentally during the statewide middle school BETA club convention. I have nothing against the BETA Club or against middle schoolers. I’d just prefer not to vacation with so many of them all at once. Thousands of junior high kids, many of whom were clearly experiencing their very first taste of travel freedom, were absolutely all over the hotel and the restaurants there. Our room was situated in the middle of one group who seemed to have a particularly exciting time the first night of their stay. So, we fought crowds and frustration the whole time we were there.

I’ll never forget the sledding track they had set up just outside the hotel. The girls loved it:

I barely survived it:

Maybe the picture above best sums up how most of us get through this season. We’re just holding on for dear life.

Sometimes I wonder why we do this to ourselves year after year. Celebrating Christmas is a lot of work. December is stressful. The calendar is crazy. Expectations and emotions run high. Yet, we do it. We put wreaths on the doors and windows. {In some rare cases we stand in the front yard and bark orders about how high a certain wreath should be hung}. We put trees up. We string lights. We buy gifts. We wear festive clothes and ugly sweaters. We sing carols. We bake special cookies. And, while it requires a ridiculous amount of time and effort to acknowledge the Christmas season, it’s as if something within us simultaneously resents AND needs this season with all its traditions and tensions.

Maybe the rituals and even our failed attempts at creating new family traditions can themselves remind us how fragile and flawed we are. We celebrate not because life is merry and easy… but because Christmas means there is hope for us yet.

It’s not that a ready world or a peaceful world rejoices. A weary world rejoices.

And surely we are weary. Even a little bit weary of ourselves.

Thanks be to God that we have a “Princess Peace” who is the antidote to our weariness and the only real and worthy reason for the season we struggle to celebrate well.

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
{Isaiah 9:6}