I spent over 40 years of Christmas celebrating at my
parent’s home. Even with three moves, my mom still made it the place of magic
for the holidays. She loved Christmas. She loved to entertain, and opened her decorated
home up for guests every year. She also filled the house with music. We sang
carols and listened to records and played the chimes at midnight on Christmas
Eve. Until I was 15 I lived up on Mt. Hood, and always had a white Christmas.
As kids you don’t think how that cost the adults. My grandparents traveled to
us from Portland every year. I was more bothered by the wait for them to
arrive.
So many of the traditions I’ve incorporated into Christmas
began in my early years, breakfast first, then stockings (occasionally the
other way around, if there was a hold up somewhere), devotions before presents,
best china and crystal. One treasured memory as a married adult, mom serving us
coffee and hot chocolate while we were still in bed and saying, “I always
wanted to do that.” No explanation why, just because she could. I’ve never
tried that on overnight guests, but love having warm, delicious liquids available
for my family and friends, hugs in a mug.
The Christmas after my mother died was a hard one. In
addition to losing mom, my husband lost both his parents, and my last
grandparent also died, all by early November of that year. I volunteered to
host Christmas, and I was terrified. We were emotional basket cases. I felt the
weight of every tradition on my shoulders, the need to make Christmas perfect,
for everyone to feel loved and comforted.
There were a lot of tears. But we also laughed and ate and shared gifts.
Everyone came for breakfast and we opened stockings after. We had devotions.
Dad gave a prayer. We opened presents and ate a traditional dinner. We somehow
made it through the day, and my husband and I sat on the stairs after everyone
had left and cried, not out of sadness, but out of gratefulness and relief that
we could still celebrate after so difficult a year. It wasn’t perfect. I was nervous
and grumpy and probably snapped at someone. But it was still Christmas, and
that first began many years of new and old traditions as I continued to host
the family.
We’ve had other gains and losses through the years. My dad
remarried and we gained my stepmother and her mother. My brother married and we
gained his wife and her brother. Our nephew was the best gift one year. One
sister married. We’ve lost our step-mother and grandmother, my dad, my
sister-in-law’s brother, and my youngest sister. Our chosen son moved to
Australia to start his family. The numbers around the table diminished. This
year we lost my other sister. She was my biggest cheerleader for Christmas, and
helped create new traditions to make Christmas at my house its own experience. Now
she has joined the others, and we have gone from 12 around the table to 6.
Again we face a Christmas with a major change. My sister’s
absence is huge, and fairly new. I’ve wondered again how we can celebrate. But
that first Christmas hosting taught me a lot, lessons I’ve continued to learn
through the years since. The biggest lesson is that expectations can really sap
the joy.
For years I’ve hosted an open house at in December. I invite
friends and family, have lots of food and decorations to the max. I thought
people returned each year for the food and decorations I had so carefully
stressed over. Then I began hearing what our guests said about why they come –
the people. Somehow we stumbled on the right mix of people who actually enjoy
one another, if only once a year. Our house is full of conversations, laughter.
My kitchen is always full of people. Sure, they eat and drink and occasionally
mention a decoration – but they are really here for each other. And, that is
how it should be. I have imperfectly learned how to simplify (a bit) the
preparations and just enjoy the crowd. Again, expectations of a perfect
experience saps the joy.
I just read an essay on the difference between expectations
and being expectant. The holidays are full of expectations, from receiving (or
giving) the long sought gift, making the best meals to satisfy everyone, making
sure everyone leaves happy. Year after year we see how we fall short of the
expectations. We keep trying to make the season magical with the right stuff. We
want things to be perfect. We forget we don’t have that much control over
ourselves, let alone others. We can’t be responsible for their happiness or
contentment. My mother made Christmas magical because she was magical. It was
the gift of coffee in bed, a warm hug, the promise of surprise. She had no
control how we’d react, but she gave. I’m sure many of her expectations were
crushed.
To be expectant, to look for the magical, the surprise
(rather than trying to create it), that’s a whole other experience. To come to
a party for the people, open for the serendipity a diverse group of people can
bring. To set the table and decorate the tree looking forward to serving that
cup of coffee, looking for the unexpected.
With expectations we have a plan, a goal. On its own, that’s
not bad. We need to plan. But when we expect things to go as we planned, and
when we hitch our happiness and contentment on those expectations, that’s when
things go wrong. It’s normal to have expectations, and, unfortunately, normal
to let them take control. It’s when we expect our all our expectations to
become our reality, exactly as we expected – well that just isn’t realistic. But
to be expectant, looking forward to what’s around the corner, open to the
unexpected, maybe even embracing the challenge when a plan falls apart – that’s
a whole different way of living.
Most of Israel had expectations regarding their promised
Messiah. He would be the king to save them from oppressors, and kings are born
in palaces, not stables. Kings don’t come from a carpenter’s shop. Kings have
money and power. But Jesus didn’t fit their expectations, so they missed Him at
every point. The shepherds, the Magi, they were more open, expectant, and as a
result they were able to see the miracle. Luke, in Chapter 2, shares the story
of Simeon and Anna, two elderly people who regularly visited the temple in
expectation of meeting the Messiah. They expected the promised Messiah, but
obviously had no expectations about how that Messiah would appear. Or at very
least didn’t let their expectations rule over them. Their expectant waiting was
rewarded by getting to meet the Christ – a baby brought by poor parents to the
temple for dedication. Because they didn’t have expectations, but instead were
expectant to what God would bring, Simeon and Anna were blessed by recognizing
this baby as their long expected Messiah.
We too can have expectations that keep us from seeing what
God really has in store for us. I expected my sister to be with me this
Christmas. I expected her to be with me for many more years. But God had other
plans for my sister and for me. I need to seek those plans expectantly rather
than setting up my own.
My hope is to be more expectant this season, and curb my
expectations. I’m excited to see what surprises are in store.
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