I’m guest blogging over on Kindred Mom for a month focused on A Quiet Christmas. This month, this community of brave and honest mama writers offers inspiration to embrace a quiet Christmas, with practical approaches, heartfelt stories, and wise advise.
We cheerfully dusted our final batch of Christmas cookies with an array of colored sprinkles, pushing them into position on the counters. Strewn with our morning’s labor, the cookie-laden kitchen testified to the festive holiday baking my daughter and I dedicated to our morning’s activity. She, her eyes wide with the joy of Christmas, was laying a foundation of cherished Christmas memories she would perhaps one day share with children of her own.
As it were, that bustling scene was in fact the vision I had as I planned to share my favorite season of preparation with my daughter and newborn son. On maternity leave, this was my first Christmas season as an adult where I would be home full time, and I had baked in a myriad of expectations for how the season would be. We would make all my favorite Christmas treats together, boisterously sing carols, study the Christmas story, and, through each activity, anticipate the Savior’s birth with joy.
For me, the childlike faith and anticipation of Christmas has never dissipated. Whether three or thirty years old, I sit in an otherwise dark room lit by a Christmas tree and feel that same uninhibited hope and expectation: Emmanuel, God with us, the purest hope. Sharing that hopeful anticipation with my two little people was to be tremendous joy.
My many expectations stifled the hopeful, expectant waiting the season requires.
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