The Christmas holiday is quickly approaching and there is a flurry of activity here. We have family coming. Our medium sized house is seeming much too small to fit the crowd that will descend, but I suspect it isn't the house that is too small, but rather my perspective on it. I'm a quiet moments homebody. I enjoy the fun of the crowd but will always choose a simple evening with My Love over a party. So I am dreading the impending hostessing. Considering feeding, entertaining and cleaning up after eight adults and six children for an extended period of time makes my head swim. I've been cooking like a mad woman trying to get as many meals prepared in advance as possible so as to simplify the chaos that I'm expecting. I tell myself that I'll be more available if I'm not spending all my time in the kitchen. I'll spend time playing with my kids and laughing with my in-laws. I'll be free to casually mingle during jingle. So, I've got much of Christmas dinner prepared already, a couple breakfasts, three or four dinners and a whole slew of small plate appetizers for our Christmas Eve dinner. There are still a few more side dishes and a breakfast I want to pre-make and freeze. It sounds impressive. Neat and tidy. Well organized and efficient. And yet, is it truly worth the price? These last two weeks I've been stressed and tense, my grouchy and impatient demeanor washing over my children and husband. My words expelled more harshly than situations warranted. Even the dog seems to look reproachfully at me from the backyard. I tell myself that I haven't been unreasonable and that those kids know our family rules and are taking advantage of my distracted and busy schedule. And maybe that's true. But no one anywhere ever said, "I dream of being a reasonable parent."
How thankful I am that my gracious and loving Father is forgiving. How lost I would be without his grace - His never-ending grace for me in my negative hurry scurry flurry. He gives more grace so that there is enough for me to pass on to the naughty child who just let the baby write on the piano keys with purple marker. Enough to cover My Love who left the candle within reach of Little Guy who knocked it over, spilling wax on the hardwood floor. Enough for my helper girl who seems to move at sleepwalker's pace. Enough for the Little who just MUST do it herself. Enough of His grace so that eventually I will see that all this is just part of the messy living that is life and simply begin to breathe so that maybe instead of tolerating it all with a martyr's spirit, I will see it as the precious moments that I cherish and be grateful for the chance.
