This isn’t the Christmas I’d hoped for.
Actually, this is the third Christmas in a row that isn’t turning out the way I’d wanted. For three years now, my vision of a perfect Christmas involved me being pregnant or being a mom. But apparently, my vision isn’t God’s will for my life, at least not this year, yet again.
This disappointment is made even more hurtful by the fact that God has answered others’ prayers for pregnancy and a child, but not mine. They get to celebrate Christmas with their children and/or anticipate their children being born at some point in the future, but I don’t know if I’ll have children at any point in the future. For them, this is the most wonderful time of the year; for me, it’s the crap, crappiest season of all.
For the past few weeks leading up to Christmas, I’ve pouted and pitied myself and gotten irritated with people asking me for gift ideas since I won’t be getting the main gift I want. But then, I had a revelation, something that may come as a shock to you, as it did to me:
Christmas isn’t about me.
This idea and its implications about the sinfulness of my sullen attitude have been validated through several experiences in recent weeks: reading the story of Jesus’ birth at our small group Christmas party, listening to a sermon on God’s promises represented by the post-Flood rainbow, and hanging out with friends who have kids but are going through other hardships that can make the holidays difficult to endure. All of this helped me remember that although I don’t have a “perfect life” in the sense that I don’t have a baby, my life is perfect in the sense that I have a Savior. And more than that, this life isn’t about pining away for the good things I don’t have; it’s about giving praise and glory to the Giver of all good things.
So, this isn’t the Christmas I’d hoped for, but I do have hope in my Redeemer who gave me the greatest gift of all.