What does it look like to celebrate Christmas on the race? What does it look like to stay present during the holidays? What is the perfect balance between connecting back home and staying connected with my team? Does Santa know we’re living at the casita?
These are the questions that have haunted my mind surrounding MY day. Easter is cool. Halloweens alright. St. Patrick’s day is fun. Birthdays…eh. But Christmas. Oh boy. My face lights up brighter than Ralphie, when he finally gets his official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air-riffle. My heart flutters more than Clark Griswold’s when he finally gets his lights to turn on. Every morning in December my heart melts the way it only does when Bing Crosby sings White Christmas.
So what has been my reality of the holidays thus far?
For myself, Christmas started Thanksgiving night when my lovely friend offered to watch Elf with me in attempts to fill the void of missing my brother. The intentions were wonderful. The outcome, not so much. I closed my eyes during the opening credits because the first three minutes were too painful. I “fell asleep” right away.
“The Holy Spirit came over me and I was out. Sorry Harm.”
Soon after, I was sick for the next two weeks. During those two weeks, I had, “I want my mommy” syndrome. Praise Jesus for Paige Thiele for speaking truth into me. Holidays are painful to miss. They’ve been such a joyous season of life. How could I miss it now?
“I’ll be home for Christmas”
“There’s no place like home for the holidays”
Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! How COULD I miss it ever?
Well I can. And I am. Joyfully in fact. Yes, some moments are harder than others, but this season is beautiful, fruitful and filled with love. I wouldn’t change it for the world.
My wonderful sister had some simple, yet perfect words to share to me:
“Jesus is the reason for the season. And you’re literally doing that. Like, that’s awesome.”
Thanks Renee. No one could have, like, said it better.
With that said, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to forcefully snuggle with you Renee. (She’s not physical touch. The struggle is real). Jojo, that doesn’t mean I’m not dying for your sausage bread and childlike Christmas cheer. Todd, that doesn’t mean I don’t want a mimosa and to hear your wisdom. Steven, I wish I could give you a hilarious and meaningful gift and hear your jolly laugh. Baby Graham, I wish more than anything I could spend all day with you at the hospital praying for your tiny body to heal. And Anthony, there’s nothing more in the world I wish I could hear than the knock at my door at 6am to start opening up presents. Or wearing our Christmas pajamas together. Or rubbing your head (oh by jolly, I miss that the most). Or just seeing your macaroni smile.
I miss it. I miss it all. Next year will be more cherished than ever.
The other night, I was chatting with a dear friend. A friend whose voice I haven’t heard in three months. (You know who you are Austin Turner and I don’t care how cool you are or how famous you get, we’re talking more often.) He said the following heartbreaking sentence to me:
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to call me or you should hear about my stupid problems, because they’re nothing in comparison to what you’re doing.”
As the fumes were welling up inside me, I was able to respond lovingly. (Ish.)
“Are you freaking kidding me? Austin, don’t you understand that you’re part of the reason I’m here? Don’t you understand hearing your voice fills me up and it what’s going to get me through the next eight months? I want to hear your heart. Don’t compare the problems you face to the problems I see people facing. Does Jesus compare your problems? No. Am I going to do that? Freak no.”
So, family, friends, near, and dear ones, I want to hear your heart. You fill me up. You tie me to reality. I love you. I miss you. I’m praying for you.
Merriest of Christmas’ to you all!
