Expectations

It’s not something I am proud of. 

Admitting it - even to myself - is difficult. But, after decades employing all the usual suspects: busy-ness, berating, and denying, this year I’m trying a different approach.  Acknowledging.

The motivation for this public confession is not an attempt at personal victory or freedom from the emotional pall that I wear like some garish Christmas sweater.  I don’t make this confession to garner pity, rebuke, correction, or ridicule.  I make it so that anyone out there, who might find December a bit daunting, might know that they are not alone.  And maybe benefit from my public self-analysis. In spite of the backlash and reprimands I fear – here goes.

I have a very difficult time with the “most wonderful time of the year”.  There, I said it.  This is no surprise to those who know me.  In fact - were it not for them - I’d still be stuck in my powerfully ineffective strategy of choice. Denial.

I can’t know what might flavor another person’s gloom, but unfulfill-able expectations fuels mine.  It’s at Christmastime, more than any other, that I feel a magnifying spotlight is focused on all my inadequacies.  Every. Single. One.

Christmas is supposed to be about love.  I get it.   Love is others minded.  I get it.  Love speaks different languages.  I get it.  But Thanksgiving’s pumpkin pie isn’t digested before the internal accusations begin screaming,  “there’s not enough”.   Not enough to give those whose love language is quality time.  Not enough energy to do more than stocking-stuffer caliber acts of service.  Not enough resources to satisfy my desire to speak the language of love to the gift-givers in my life. For the speakers of physical touch, too many miles separate us.  And for those whose native love language are words of kindness I suspect my annual mass mailed greeting feels egregious.

And every ‘not enough’ takes energy to resist. Some days I’m more successful than others.  Some years I’m more successful than others.

My struggle is the inability to communicate - in all its dialects – the love, gratitude and appreciation I feel in my heart that I want others to know.  The pit I fall in every year is the feeling that every person I love is going to be disappointed in me.

Wow, there it is, the insidious belief that has robbed my joy every year at this most wonderful time. What can I do with that belief Lord?

“What did Peter say to the lame man’s expectations in Acts 3?”

 "I don't have any silver or gold for you. But I'll give you what I have. In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, get up and walk!"

The truth is I only have one thing of value to give.  It springs from the gift made available at the cross.  Sometimes things happen that stop us dead in our tracks.  And we might find ourselves, like the man in Acts, having to be carried, forced to spend our days stuck watching others move easily through a gate called Beautiful. 

All the time, gifts, words, hugs, or help I can give will never bring life into those broken, hurting areas that need to be made well. My efforts are just fluff and sprinkles.  Jesus, the One Who is more than enough, brought substance and truth in abundance and offers liberally.  So, to those who -  like I often do - find themselves unable, lacking, and paralyzed by uncertainty, His empowering gift is offered. 

"Take my hand. Get up. Together we will walk."