Perfectly Imperfect

I love Christmas. There is a magic about the season that always gets me, no matter what. As a child the magic was just there, anxiously counted down on the advent calendar. As an adult, I love helping to make it magic. It’s harder to do this as my kids rapidly become adults, but we all still pretend, with knowing winks, that Santa has left them surprises on his annual trip around the globe.  I love how the season brings back so many memories, all the family stories that you tell over and over.

I think back to watching my dad load the car for the annual pilgrimage to my Mom’s parents for Christmas. It was a drive that took FOREVER, and no doubt was stressful for my parents as we drove through sketchy weather from southern Virginia to Cleveland, Ohio.  To be so anxious for Christmas, but also spending what felt like 100 hours on a car ride, was shear torture. I remember nosing around and finding a wrapped package addressed from Santa to me in the back of the station wagon. How could this be? My quick-thinking dad said that they were just helping Santa deliver gifts to Ohio. Just what a harried dad needs, right? A kid snooping around.

I think back to 1994, when I had just arrived in Korea for a year-long Air Force assignment. In typical military fashion, they couldn’t give me my permanent quarters for my first month there, so had assigned me temporarily to the worst dorms on base. My dorm was so wonderful that they were dubbed “the crack houses” by everyone on base. None the less, I bought a small tree, put it in a red solo cup of water, and hung some lights on it. Luckily the “crack houses” escaped the notice of the fire marshal who surely wouldn’t have appreciated the combination of wood, water and electricity in my room. My new-ish boyfriend came to spend Christmas with me, definitely earning bonus points as we opened gifts in my tiny crack house room and then joined other orphans at the Officer’s Club for Christmas dinner.  It was pretty cool that he was there, so I decided to keep him around.

And I think of a more recent Christmas. Having just started with Southwest Airlines, Greg had to work on Christmas Day. We decided as a family to just delay everything 24 hours. Christmas day would be our Christmas Eve, and our Christmas day would be the 26th. To keep busy, the kids and I spent the morning volunteering, and counting down until Dad could be home. Only because of a delayed departure did he make a flight back to National, arriving just in time to meet us at a Christmas night show at the Kennedy Center. Because he had returned to National but had started his flying at BWI, we had to drive after the show to Baltimore to get his car, getting home in the wee hours.  It was all worth it to spend the next day together in our PJs, unwrapping presents (finally!).  

If you think of the very first Christmas, Jesus’ birth, what must have been Mary’s thoughts? How could anyone have believed the mystery of her pregnancy? And now she was so pregnant, everything uncomfortable, forced on a long trip for no other reason than to suit the mandate of the government. If you google walking time from Nazareth to Bethlehem it’s 33 hours. Can you imagine, walking 33 hours right before giving birth? And Joseph, as wonderful as he was, could only come up with a barn as a place for them to stay. If I was Mary, I might have had some words for Joseph. Giving birth in a manager was hardly the perfect situation.

Sometimes I think that we equate this season with a need for perfection. Perfect decorations, perfect gifts, perfect outfits for what you hope is a decent enough photo for the Christmas cards. You twist the tree around to hide the bare spot, you hide the burnt cookies on the bottom of the tin, and you tape up the wrapping paper that ripped when you pulled the corners too tight.  It can get overwhelming. I know that Joseph tried his best to make their humble accommodations seem better, “This one has the softest hay...”

But in the least perfect situation, a manger, the most wondrous miracle occurred. Did they know that their son would forever alter all of humankind? The shepherds knew, the Magi knew. And I think Mary knew too. This young woman, away from her family, had the confidence to see through the imperfection of the location and the lack of comforts. “But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” (Luke 2:20) My greatest wish this holiday season is that we look past any imperfections, either in reality or in our expectations, and treasure what’s in our hearts this Christmas.