I’ve had a few meltdowns in recent weeks, worse than your normal bad day. There’s a need for some time off from what I do day in and day out with the girls, but when it came around again yesterday, I decided ideals have a big part in it. They float around my head endlessly. I wrestle daily to master my hopes and expectations.
One example of a current wrestle, among 50 others, is the whole Christmas thing. Santa or no Santa? Gifts or no gifts? Lots or little? I struggle to land confidently, even if we as a couple have already made a decision. I’m not comfortable with gray area.
We’ve had Santa in our family without going above and beyond, but of course that’s relative I suppose. I think Emily has figured it out and might be pretending while the other two try to keep it going for her. It’s fun. Driving with her the other night, she was checking her list twice. Her little voice whimpered from the dark of the back seat as she realized a new found toy wasn’t on her list, but was too late to request from Santa.
I’m not threatened (and I’ll need to remind myself of this tomorrow) by the commercialism nor the piety at Christmas. The story we call Christmas, is only a part of the whole and lives in my heart 365 days a year. It’s the story that gives me hope and life. The greenery will be packed away by New Year, but when I’m bogged down by the next set of ideals and feeling strained to get it right, I know who will be there to remind me He got it right for me.
The story has never once been about me getting it right, or coming to the end of wanting something more. The story, whether its December or June, has always been the rescue of my heart and yours, wrapped up in the trappings of a finite world, so filled with beauty, yet leaving us wanting for more and more . . .
. . . because there is more. Your restless heart won’t let you forget it.