Christmas was magic when I was growing up. It wasn’t just the presents or the big meal on December 25 or the guy in the red suit. That stuff was great, don’t get me wrong. But as the daughter of a pastor, the bulk of the Christmas magic came from church. In fact, for the largest portion of my childhood that magic came from this church.
Christmas at La Sierra University Church, for me, was the stuff of Hallmark Christmas movies. (Mostly without the bad love story plots. Though I did spend my preteen years at LSUC, so not entirely without I must admit.) The magic was the matching dresses my mom would put my sisters and me in (scratchy, but man did we feel like princesses) and the homemade Christmas cookies our Sabbath School teachers would bring us for reciting our memory verses (dilligently memorized 5 minutes before). It was in the Christmas Candlelight Concert (held on actual Christmas Eve when I was a kid) and the roar when the organ would play “Joy to the World” or the “Hallelujah Chorus” (I swear the entire church shook). It was the Children’s Choir dressed as the Heavenly Host singing on Christmas Sabbath in our clothes hanger halos and white bathrobes. It was the myriad of gatherings and parties and the joy in the busyness of it all. Magic, year after year.
Now that I’m a mom, Christmas has a different kind of vibe, and I’m not sure I’d quite call it magic. The busyness isn’t so much joyful as it is chaotic. The programs and parties and gatherings (manifesting in the constant scramble for the last minute for potluck dishes and white elephant gifts) are filling my schedule and taking away time from the normal routine of homework and regularly scheduled bedtimes. Then there is my teacher self with finals looming and students scurrying to bring up their grades and ALL THE THINGS happening on an academy campus.
The list seems endless and the juggling act feels impossible. And when I look around at the insanity of this season I wonder if I’m doing a good enough job at filling it with a sufficient amount of joy and magic for my daughters. Do they feel the wonder like I did? Do they see beyond the presents they open? Am I doing it all justice? Is my chaos paying off or am I just spinning my wheels?
In my teacher-mom life there isn’t much room made for peace. This Advent season I am determined to rediscover the magic of Christmas for my daughters, but also for myself. And while I hope they’ll see it in all the ways I did with the activities and the music and the traditions, I hope that mine will come in a new form: peace.
Or, rather, Peace—with the big P. Peace in knowing that I am enough for Jesus. Peace in being surrounded by the love and support of my family. Peace in the promise that the Christmas story is not about meeting expectations or perfecting the juggling act, but in realizing that I am valued and treasured in spite of the many ways I so constantly feel like a failure. I crave that kind of Peace. And this Advent, it’s my mission to claim it.