When Christmas Doesn't Feel Like Christmas

I was putting lights on my mom's Christmas tree a few weeks back, and I was reminded of a statement I'd heard at some point early in life - "If you squint your eyes when you look at the tree, the lights shine brighter." As a kid, I slept on the couch some nights during Christmas because I loved falling asleep by the fire and staring at the beauty of the tree. I fondly remember lying there in the stillness of night squinting my eyes to see the pretty lights really shine before I fell asleep. I'd then curl up with my blanket, close my eyes, and drift off in comfort - without a care in the world. It was Christmas.

Growing up, my mind overflowed with excitement and wonder throughout the holiday season. Driving through neighborhoods to admire Christmas lights, decorating the real tree in the living room - placing each special ornament in its own special spot. A festive wreath hung on my bedroom door, and every morning in December a piece of candy was waiting there for me. Baking cookies, spending time with friends, and thinking of ways to craft presents for family using my limited funds was all part of the season. Aside from the fun of Christmas, it was also a joyful time of celebration - observing Advent and learning that Jesus is the Light of the World. Attending a candle light Christmas Eve service and reading in Luke 2 of our Savior's birth filled me with awe. Needless to say, I never thought there would be a time when Christmas didn't feel like Christmas.

Then one day, as I inevitably got older and moved away from the traditions of my childhood, I realized something was different. The holidays were cold and busy, lacking all signs of warmth and peace. Excitement had turned to stress, and wonder quickly subsided only to be replaced by an office desk. Time was short and creativity was merely a dream I once had. It seemed as though everything I knew of Christmas had suddenly evaporated and all that remained was the dry fountain of winter. I found myself longing to make this time of year feel the way it did so long ago. I was searching for even a tiny remnant of the unspoken and unexplainable "holiday spirit" I once knew. For several years (including this one) it was an internal struggle of mine, and no matter how many fixes I thought I had, none of them made a difference. Listening to Christmas music all day every day, making homemade hot chocolate, watching Christmas movie marathons, and decorating the tree now fell short. Even Christmas Eve services were steeped in routine and lacked genuine motives. I tried anything I could to "bring Christmas back," never realizing that wasn't the issue.

I wish I could tell you I found the answer, or that I have the secret solution to remedy the situation and make it all better. I don't, but what I did realize (and this is going to sound depressing, but hear me out), is that there is no solution - the holidays will never feel the way they did when I was a child. It is just the natural progression of life, and that's ok. This was something I had never considered until recently - it's ok.

I'll admit, it took a little while to accept but once I did, I discovered a whole new appreciation for the season, and it's just as beautiful in its own way. I find joy in the differences, instead of disappointment that it's "just not the same." I'm able to read about our Prince of Peace with eyes to see and ears to hear - flooded with thankfulness rather than a burden to fix something that's not broken. I still love Christmas music and gift exchanges, decorations and time with family, watching Elf and drinking wassail. I've just learned that they are wonderful additions to the season, not solutions to a problem. With the pressure gone, I've been free to experience the holidays as they are in this moment.

And it all started with one look at those lights.

So with all of that said, if you're feeling stuck and Christmas just doesn't feel like Christmas, sit down and give a squinting look towards the tree. Life may be different now, but the lights are still bright.

Makes Me Feel Brave

When you look at the world what do you see? When you look at yourself, how do you feel? These are two questions that seem to coincide for me. Oftentimes what I see in the world is a reflection of how I view myself or a reminder of how I should feel. Some of the deepest and most challenging things I have learned about myself came from observing my surroundings. I've always related to small and seemingly insignificant aspects in nature, and the older I get the more I understand why.

My family and friends never fell short in communicating how much I was valued, but for one reason or another I struggled to see myself in the same light. Feeling unimportant and cowardly has always come naturally to me, but somehow noticing the single leaf holding on to a branch or the little birds that hum a melody regardless of who's listening causes me to reconsider those feelings every time. When you take a moment to see the world as they do, nothing looks the same. The tiny violets sprouting in a coarse field and the scattered pebbles sitting high on a mountain - what could they contribute? The gentle shell perched on crashing water's edge - a wave could sweep in any moment and wash it away, so why bother? At first glance these things may seem trivial, but what I've come to realize is that no matter the expanse of their perceived influence, at least they all have the courage to just "be". To be what they are, where they are, with no reservations and to persevere because that's all they know. They live day to day in the most common yet unexpected places and face trials in their own way - showing us all what it looks like to be brave. Teaching us we're not alone, and our efforts are not useless.

We may be a grain of sand in comparison to the vastness of the universe, but that doesn't have to determine the size of our impact. As the days rush by and we find ourselves approaching a new year, challenge yourself to look for those small glimpses of perspective, wherever they may be. Don't be afraid to face the life you've been given, and face it with all the strength and courage of the small things.

If this humble flower can grow and be beautiful where it's planted, so can I. 

Fall Is Still Her Favorite Season

I talked with a girl this week who doesn't see her beauty and doesn't know her worth. Years of abuse clutter her mind, and she no longer has the will to fight. Her spirit is broken and body bruised, but that's the saying right, "I love you to death"? Faces of rage keep her awake at night, and she wonders if she'll ever be free. There was a time when she was full of dreams and purpose - the brightest light in the room. Those days are behind her now, and she can barely even muster enough strength to keep the light in her eyes. She's lost herself and found ways to cope with the pain, each one more permanent than the last. Her resources are depleted and her friends are distant, not wanting to get involved.

While I listened to her share her struggles and fears, all I could hear was a heartbreaking situation - desperate and unending. The overwhelming thoughts of failure and shame poured out of her like a river as I tried to sit there without crying a river of my own. Her dignity had been stripped away along with her very essence, or so it seemed. As we continued to talk, she took a quick yet pondering glance out the window. "Fall is my favorite season - it's always been my favorite season," she said with a smile I hadn't seen before. It sprung from a place of joy and genuine sentiment still deeply buried somewhere within. Though the road had been long and the journey nearly unbearable, I realized her identity could still be found, lingering in something so simply ordinary. Despite the hurt and defeat from her past, fall is still her favorite season, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say that's enough. 

The world gets quiet as she watches the changing leaves, and once again the cool autumn air has calmed her soul.