My advent wreath is handmade. Before you get all admiring of my craftiness, it’s just a simple wreath with wooden candle holders precariously attached with hot glue. The candles are never quite vertical, which adds an element of excitement. Will it tip over and catch the song sheets on fire or won’t it?
Our advent wreath is not objectively beautiful, but it’s functional. And really, everything looks lovely by candlelight.
I love Christmas. I love the traditions and the songs and the decorations and the food. Heck, I even take a stab at making crafts at Christmas. I love how a simple drive to the store after dusk is a trip through fairyland. I love the movies that I’ve watched for decades and hope to watch for decades more. I love baking and I love eating. I love it all. As much as I love it, the image of what Christmas is “supposed to be” can be a little daunting. And for an introvert, the excessive amount of getting together with people can be overwhelming. So I love it and look forward to it, but I dread it a little too.
Let’s face it, the execution of Christmas always falls short of the ideal. The decorations are dusty, and sneezing kids bicker over who gets to put up what ornament and who’s doing it wrong. I put too much on our calendar, so we’re grumpy from having to rush around or grumpy from having missed an expected treat. Or, trying not to overload the calendar, I say no to something that causes someone disappointment. Christmas devotions get skipped a lot because of the crowded calendar, and then we try to cram five days of Jesse Tree devotions into one. Baking day starts out fun, but by the dozenth dozen, we’ve all had enough. And I still have the mess to clean up. I never — never — manage to ship Christmas packages on time. And a dozen other glitches that mar the picture-perfect image of what Christmas is “supposed to be.”
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Merry imperfect Christmas!