When The Most Wonderful Time of The Year... Isn't

I cry in the bathroom almost every Christmas.

Sob.

Quietly. Alone.

Christmas movies and songs with bells in them... they tell me that this is the most wonderful time of the year. And everyone loves that. It's bright, and sparkly, and gift-wrapped. But the truth is, life doesn't go on hold during the month of December.

I cried because I was single. I cried because I was dating. I cried because I was sick. I cried because I didn't feel healthy enough. I cried because I looked ugly in my Christmas outfit. I cried because my grandma wasn't there. I cried because someone else was there. I cried because I had no children. I cried because my child came and was terrifyingly tiny and sick. I cried because I was alone. I cried because there were so many people. I cried because of my sin, because of someone else's sin, because of some unknown longing and gnawing that just wouldn't quit.

Life doesn't pause in December.

And sometimes all the gaiety and merriment just makes your ache that much more profound.

It makes you wonder if this is it. Is this my happiness? Even in the wonderful moments, there's the knowledge, "this won't last forever... crap. I hate packing up ornaments..."

I'm telling you this because my life is idyllic. It's ideal. My family is amazing, my husband is phenomenal, my children are undeserved blessings.

And I still felt this gnawing emptiness.

Let's just be honest. If I have felt it, surrounded by all my earthly peace and blessings... surely I'm not alone.

My kids have several Little People books. The people are fat and chunky, the mountains in the background are flat and a weird color purple. All the buildings and surroundings are symmetrical and pastel colored. While it looks quite cheerful, in reality, it's all a poor, flat representation of life.

That's where we're living. We're chunky Little People. Our surroundings are flat and boring. We don't know any better. This is our world. But someday, we will see true beauty. Just as a person who has only seen purple mountain blobs, would fall down dead in shock at the power of the Rocky Mountains, so will you and I gasp in amazement at the power a beauty of heaven.

This is not the ultimate home coming. This is not the end. All the beautiful decorations, the amazing food, the gifts, the hugs, the family... it's just a cheap, bumbling representation of eternity.

The past several Christmases, I haven't sobbed in the bathroom. Because I know this is only a flat representation of true joy. It's wonderful. But it's not the most wonderful.

When my to do list is too long, when relationships are stressful, when the glitter keeps falling off my Pinterest ornaments and the tape keeps popping off my carefully wrapped presents... I take a deep breath.

"I have calmed and quieted my soul." I breath out David's peace. "I have calmed and quieted my soul." This is not all there is. This is not ultimate happiness. This is not my satisfaction. And I say with the psalmist, "Oh, Israel, hope in the Lord from this time forth and forever more." God, may my hope be in you, in your steadfast love, in your faithfulness to save, in your unchanging goodness. My hope is not in my family, my presents, my traditions, my glitter... It's in my GOD.

So, withdraw to that bathroom. It's okay to feel this way. But take that deep longing, that dissatisfaction, that overwhelmed fatigue, and cry out to God. Ask for a quiet soul. Ask that God would be your hope.

The most wonderful time of the year... isn't actually that wonderful. It's just a sample. Better things are coming. This I can promise you.

Merry Christmas.