How to Have a Perfectly Imperfect Christmas

For years I strove for The Perfect Christmas.

My gene pool generously blessed me with an extra dose of perfectionism.

If you think perfectionism is a positive trait, it’s not. It’s a disposition that regards anything short of perfection as unacceptable. It means you’re never quite satisfied with what you create or achieve.

My mind obsessed over every component of that perfect holiday experience.

The Perfect Christmas would include a classic family photo sent to 100 of our closest contacts. We’d host our annual Christmas party and create teacher gifts for our four children’s multiple teachers. I was determined to include Advent readings and candles, neighbor gifts, friend gifts, and the five big boxes of gifts mailed to loved ones far away. I’d buy multiple presents for our kids, including the many small ones for stockings.

I would speed through it all and finally sit down to enjoy our decorated fresh fir… after the holidays. Drained, I’d fall into bed and realize I’d missed some priceless moments that were gone forever.

The activities were meaningful, but they needed to be toned down. I needed to prioritize the truly important aspects of Christmas. To somehow move from gluttony to grace.

Life happened and settled me into my rightful place. One year, we asked a neighbor to snap a picture of all six of us posed on our swing set. (Why didn’t my husband stop me?) In the pre-digital era, I imagined a perfect family photo as I waited days to see it. Opening the CVS envelope jolted my idealistic little brain. I almost tossed it in the trash.

The photo brought me to my moment of epiphany. It showed exactly who we were then. A dutiful husband who’d complied with my wishes, me sitting on the see-saw, smiling with my eyes closed, a teenager who wanted to be anywhere else, a silly little towheaded boy who wouldn’t smile but could make the craziest faces, a compliant, sweet little girl with reddish-blond hair, and a daughter with autism, who was probably the best behaved. It was awful. Believe it or not, I sent that picture. I included my Christmas epiphany about receiving Jesus, the Perfect Gift, even in our imperfect state.

Another Christmas found us in The Middle of Nowhere, Tennessee. We’d made a difficult but important trip from coastal North Carolina to western Tennessee for precious time with a loved one. Heading home on Christmas day, we found ourselves at dusk in a very bleak area. We seemed to be the only car on the entire highway. I panicked when I realized we had nothing to eat. No restaurants were in sight, but we were happy to find an open service station. We bought peanut butter and crackers and Coke. I suddenly became more deeply aware of the first Christmas. What did Mary and Joseph eat for dinner? Certainly not the abundant fare we Americans enjoy. I guess it more closely resembled our humble cracker meal.

I’d thought to bring stocking gifts along for the children. As we settled into our room for the night, our kids happily tore into small presents while sitting on motel beds. I can still feel their excitement over such a small thing. It’s always been one of my favorite Christmas memories.

My heart longed more and more for meaning rather than perfection.

As years went by, it became harder to get the family together for a picture. I learned any card would do. Another year, I decided not to send cards, and Christmas still happened. Then there was the holiday when our downstairs furniture was in a POD because of a recent flood. Underfoot was sub-flooring. We sat on the floor with blankets. We didn’t even buy a tree. However, we robustly enjoyed our favorite tradition, The Stocking Hunt.

The Stocking Hunt began when our kids were young. My husband, Tom, tied a long string to each stocking, hid the stocking, and handed the children the loose end of the string. The string would take them on a wild goose chase throughout the house and outside, finally leading them to the other end to claim their filled stocking. The younger the child, the easier the hunt. Through the years, they found stockings in the fireplace, the laundry, the bathtub, and even trees.

As years have passed, what has naturally developed is the most fun of all. We’ve set aside the stockings, and the games progressed to serious physical and intellectual competitions. There’ve been football throws, BB gun target shoots, immersing your hand in a tub of ice, blowing a ping-pong ball while crawling, quizzes with historical facts, athletic teams, musicians and so much more.

Why do I share our tradition? I want you to have a meaningful (albeit imperfect) Christmas, too. Isn’t that what you long for?

Why is perfectionism not the answer? Because it left me frustrated, exhausted, dissatisfied, and unaccomplished. And all the while, I missed some truly momentous experiences.

I finally realized that Christmas is about more than the doing and buying and going. Christmas is only days away, and my list is starkly different from my to-do list in the past. I’ve yet to bake, wrap, or send cards. Years ago, this situation would have freaked me out. I’ll get things done, eventually. In the meantime, I’ll ponder the true Reason and look forward to generously blessing truly needy folks among us. We’re excited about family time and can’t wait to see our grandkids take part in our Christmas games. The years have taught me to have grace for myself. I may even send New Year’s cards this year!