When You Can’t See Home for the Christmas Tree

The last few years have been a season of Moving Mountains – something that’s not necessarily over, but is now changing in shape. I haven’t quite put my finger on it, nor yet found the words, but it’s a learning transition of finding/making/building/shaping/growing/creating/nourishing/defining “home”. It’s a concept that’s taking on yet another new meaning for me, and a centre-stage part of this new season in Life. More than ever before, I want to Be Home.

And last Christmas, I could see it all. December of 2017 was going to be one for the Memory Books, with a cozy little house to finally call our own, and a bubbly baby to rip open the presents and giggle over Saturday morning pancakes. There were three little stockings, a small stack of gifts, and our tall but simple Christmas tree to commemorate the holidays. It would smell like vanilla and there’d be way too many cookies. And of course, Hubby would have the fireplace channel crackling in the background.

We would be family. We would be hygge. We would be Home.

A few weeks ago now, we marked the start of the holiday season with the first of the Christmas decorations. Foregoing the extra work and childproofing of placing our own trimmed tree in the concrete-laden basement, we simply opted to help Grandma decorate the main floor.

It was beautiful, homey, and full of red, green, and adorable Christmas mice. Baby Girl even had a cute little tree to “decorate” all “by herself”.

And then I ruined the moment, and cried.

I stole away to the bedroom, and angrily tried to hide away the tears that literally stung my face in embarrassment. On one hand, the whole thing was so lovely and Christmas-y, I couldn’t have asked for a better beginning to my daughter’s first Christmas experience – starting with that beautiful tree.

But on the other hand, this wasn’t exactly how I had pictured it. I felt ungrateful, and for that, I felt ashamed.

There were the stars and the ornaments and the lights, but not in the setting I’d imagined; not in the home of our own that I had dreamed of. It was so hard for me to see the grace and love that was sitting right in front of me, in all of its True Christmas Glory.

I’ve been dreaming of a home, but I can’t get past that dang Christmas Tree… and it’s blocking my View of what really matters.

There are glossy balls and cherished ornaments, carefully hung across the tree branches.

…I’m stepping back.

There’s a Husky howling at the moon and a friendly hoard of fat cats, set up on the back porch, eyeing the new scenery.

…I’m stepping back.

The Frozen soundrack is on repeat and I’m scrubbing puree and peas from the floor with too many paper towels and not enough elbow grease.

…I’m stepping back.

Grandpa is cooking scrambled eggs for breakfast with Baby Girl in his arms and the rest of us carry cups of coffee close to our noses.

…I’m stepping back.

Her pitter-patter feet race around the corner followed by delighted shrieks.

…I’m stepping back.

He’s got one hand on the middle of my back, to love and support.

…I’m stepping back.

God has seen every desire of my heart.

…I’m stepping back.

Past the twinkling lights, the glossy ornaments, the Christmas tree. There it is.


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1 thought on “When You Can’t See Home for the Christmas Tree

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