A few days before Christmas, we were at a party with a small group of friends. Our hostess, ever full of cheer and hospitality, handed each of the 8 guests a little Christmas tag with an adjective on the back. We were each to share a Christmas memory in line with our word. My original word was awkward, but I swapped with my husband for "best Christmas" and tossed around several memories while I waited for my turn to share - childhood wonder and excitement, watching my children's eyes wide with Christmas joy. . .but ultimately decided on a very recent memory instead.
My best Christmas memory, I shared, started the Christmas before. A few years ago, our December preparations were like any other year - I was excited for the Advent season, for all the kids to be home, and for the joy we have of worshiping together, giving gifts to each other, laughing together, and just being together. But on that Christmas Eve morning, while I was at the grocery store, one of my kids texted me and told me he had a fever. Within a few hours, that fever was confirmed covid, and everything seemed to crumble after that. No worshiping together that night. No family picture at the altar. No Christmas morning at the tree (that child Facetimed us to open presents from his room). No traveling to extended family until a couple weeks later. And a day or two after Christmas, one of my other kids headed out of town on a pre-planned trip. And my heart was sad. I vividly recall taking walks every morning, tears in my eyes, but praying as I walked, thanking God for all the good in my life. My kids were alive. They were in my house at Christmas, even though we weren't really "together"... my prayer went on, as I tried to reframe my focus and be grateful for what God had given me, instead of focusing on all I felt I had lost and missed out on.
As I told my story, my friends wondered "This is your best Christmas memory?!?". "I'm getting there", I explained. That Christmas ushered in a rough year. Starting on Christmas Eve morning, the hits kept coming. It was a year of loss in so many categories. A year of hardship and heartache on so very many fronts. And as the next Christmas loomed, I longed for the new year; a new start, to turn a new page, and put this challenging year behind us.
And that next December, I remember trying to have no expectations, no dreams of a "perfect" Christmas. My prayer seemed simpler for this year, as I tried to keep my heart focused on the true meaning of Christmas - not my family being together, as I am so apt to idolize, but truly immersing myself in the miracle that is Christ's birth.
And as I explained to my friends, that next Christmas was the best in my memory because it was exactly like the all others before it (excluding the year before). Nothing spectacular happened, but instead, it was a quiet (as quiet as our family ever is, which is practically never), normal, beautiful, and joyous Christmas. Everyone was home, no one was sick, we saw our extended family, we worshiped together, we laughed together, we were together. But in stark comparison to all the heartache from the entire year before, it was beautiful because it was normal. And that year I appreciated it in a way that I never had before. I was always aware of God's many blessings to me, but I think I did take some things for granted and I learned to give thanks more fully that year for all I had.
So my best Christmas was not flashy or thrilling. My best Christmas was quiet and humble. But full of love and grace. And I was so grateful for it.