Enough

I was relaxing with Todd late (for us) just last night on our couch in front of our fire by our tree, caught in a stare as I reminisced over all our funny little ornaments, mesmerized by the tiny white lights that got sort of blurry the longer I looked at them.  And I wondered aloud if we’ve done Christmas right.

I think a girl would know exactly what I was saying.  But I spelled it out for him.  Did we remember everyone, did we hit the mark (whatever that is, I have no idea)?  Did we spoil the kids, or were we cheap?  Do we have any money left?  I still have donation slips and envelopes from all sorts of organizations, is what we’ve given enough? (Don’t throw them away yet.)  Did we forget anyone on our letter list? I tried to clean it up, but I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.  We need to have some of them over.  Did the kids spend their giving-away money? What should we do about that? I saw big bags coming in the other day when Todd and our 12 year old daughter spent the day together.  Subway was somewhere in their day, who knows what else they came up with. Were the little things I got for Todd statement enough to let him know how much I appreciate what he does for us? We didn’t even get our missionary son a single tie.  I didn’t even think of it.  And I totally forgot about making him homemade anything.  Good grief.

But as we lounged lazily in the part-dark, I felt content.  At peace.  Of course I’ve forgotten people.  (But we remembered a couple last night; we’re on it.)  I didn’t buy everyone what I really wanted.  But at the same time, hundreds have flown out of our account.  Daily, it feels like.  I think the older we get, the wider our circle becomes is all.  So no, our gifts may seem chintzy.  I feel bad.  But we’re doing the best we can.  And no, no one’s getting any neighbor gifts.  I haven’t made my toffee or fun nuts or any other treats.  I’m already feeling fat from taking a week off for being sick.  That and I can see it.  I’m awed by how on the ball our friends are.  Completely taken aback by the treats they bring us.  I hope they know we love them.  So much.  We just don’t know how to really make sure they know.  I hope it’s not dependent on a fudge plate.

I know there are people at church we’ve missed.  The old people.  That’s something I still want to do something about.  We’ve full-on skipped the workers at school.  I just figure my time will have to be my gift for another year; it’s simply not on my list.  Maybe the kindergarten moms will come through; I never was one of those.  Even when I was.

We’ve been pretty lame at our efforts to do Light the World—one of my favorite initiatives ever.  Just a scripture about Jesus everyday with a short 20 second video and three suggestions to choose from to become a little more like him this season. We talk about it every night. Check.  We watch the video.  Check. We read the suggestions.  Check. We think they’re great ideas. Check. And then we nod our heads again in agreement, pray, and go to our separate beds.  Avery may have done one or two.  We’ve tried a couple.  But to be honest, we’re bad at this.  I started to think about our failure at the easiest opportunity for service and love ever, but then I stopped.  I told Todd these are great ideas. I think we should do some of them in February.  Or April.  It’s not that I don’t have a huge testimony of service.  Or that I’m lazy. (Well, partly probably.) It’s just that I refuse to allow this month to fuel my guilt.  So yes, we talked about praying for those who mourn.  And we have.  We talked about forgiving others, for looking at the good qualities of people who are hard (and I actually prayed quite a bit in my heart yesterday for someone), and for standing up for those who get made fun of.  We’ve written letters, we’ve spent time as a family, we’ve had friends over.  All suggestions from our service calendar I guess.  But more because we just wanted to. I know we can do more.  In January. Or harvest time.

I guess I can feel peace in spite of all we’ve missed and under-done because we know it doesn’t really matter.  There’s the day after Christmas.  And all the ones after that.  I already know we’re never getting a book written about us. There’s no way I should be writing a blog.  Our house is a bomb.  I’m making seven beds in the next day or two (which means washing every element of bedding including comforters first—I’m weird but I hate that stale storage smell). I’ve got company coming smack dab in the middle of a major commitment I need to oversee. I haven’t even really got to Christmas food, I have a vague cloud floating over my head—a thought bubble thing—about dinner I’m to make for 10-16.  I really should pull its string down and pin it to something sturdy.  But maybe not till tomorrow.  Bread’s raising for Todd’s work people. Check. First load of company sheets are in their rinse cycle. I think our friends know we love them. I haven’t cried a single tear.  At least not in relation to Christmas.  Only with my friends who are sad. And from happiness. I’m feeling the spirit of Christ, I’m feeling his love wrapped around me in spite of the craziness I’m in the middle of.  We’re doing things as a family that are simple and that fit us and our life. I’m in awe at how peaceful and calm I feel.  And that’s how I know it’s all enough.