Bringing my presence to Christmas
Last week I wrote these words, “though I am not completely free of the internal voices of expectations, they are momentary visitors now, and I delight in anticipation of what Jesus will be bringing to these occasions of connections in our home” (see previous blog: Expectation vs. Anticipation). I’m now finding myself practicing the dance of noticing when generational expectations of Christmas come up and letting them go. Intentionality of being emotionally and mindfully present has been my prayer and mindset in my preparations.
The actual events are upon me. Baking our family’s traditional French Christmas Meat Pie with my daughter and 2 granddaughters is scheduled this morning. The girls are due to arrive soon. How do I set aside my expectations and ideals of how the time together should go and just be? I hear the words of Maya Angelou rumbling in my heart, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
A past baking event with my eldest granddaughter comes to mind as an example of what I don’t want this event to be like. On this occasion we planned to bake a birthday cake for her mother together. Our youngest daughter, her Auntie Em, was here visiting with her boys for her sister’s birthday. A spontaneous plan for all of us to go to the county fair developed, something the cousins enjoyed together. Knowing our sweet Irish boys, who melt in temperatures above 80, a few hours at the fair would be sufficient, giving us plenty of time to bake later in the afternoon. The plan was hatched. We’d go early and come home to do our baking in the afternoon. We all piled in the car, my husband, me, my daughter, her two boys and my eldest daughter’s daughter. The ratio was on our side, one adult to each child! It was a wonderful adventure. What I didn’t anticipate is that I, too, would be exhausted after several hours in the hot sun at the fair playing with my grandkids.
We got home and settled in a bit before we embarked on our baking. Our family has lots of dietary restrictions, so any baking is always from scratch and a little complicated. I am not gifted as a baker nor a cook. These endeavors in my kitchen take much planning and preparation, as it’s not something I do often. While I was getting things prepared to begin, all in my very orderly and neat manner, my granddaughter commented, “Jaja you’re being kinda controlling.” Oh my, you think? I sure was. I am so grateful for her gentle honesty. She was so loving and respectful in how she shared her observation. I was able to be honest in return, telling her that I was feeling tired. Auntie Em offered that she was ready and available to jump in and bake, if I was able to play with the boys. For me, playing on the floor with my boys is something that comes much easier and natural. With these sweet boys of mine now living in another state, every opportunity to play with them is a gift. This was a beautiful learning opportunity for me. A beautiful moment, marked by experiencing God’s grace for me, letting expectations go and being in the moment with my family in all my humanness.
The account of Mary and Martha comes to mind as I explore this idea of being present.
As they continued their travel, Jesus entered a village. A woman by the name of Martha welcomed him and made him feel quite at home. She had a sister, Mary, who sat before the Master, hanging on every word he said. But Martha was pulled away by all she had to do in the kitchen. Later, she stepped in, interrupting them. “Master, don’t you care that my sister has abandoned the kitchen to me? Tell her to lend me a hand.”
The Master said, “Martha, dear Martha, you’re fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it—it’s the main course, and won’t be taken from her.”
Luke 10:38-42 (message)
What caused Martha to get pulled away? There appears to have been a connection made between Jesus and Martha; “Martha welcomed him and made him feel quite at home.” It seems likely Jesus was hungry and there was a practical need for food to be prepared. Martha was pulled away by “all” she had to do in the kitchen. Was everything necessary or were the expectations she was imposing on herself motivated by wanting Jesus to see her in a certain way? Was she feeling inadequate to sit at the feet of Jesus? Was the kitchen a place she could hide? I imagine Martha looking up from the many wonderful things she was preparing, to see her sister gazing into the eyes of Jesus, noticing the connection they were enjoying. As Mary hung on his every word, I imagine her finding herself in her truest form through the eyes of Jesus; being seen, soothed, experiencing the safety that comes from being accepted in our most vulnerable state, being blessed with a security that only Jesus can give us. As Martha complains to Jesus, He makes it clear she is “fussing far too much and getting worked up over nothing.”
I see myself in Martha and the generational expectations I carry. Those expectations are also about performance and presenting myself in a way that I believe is acceptable to others. Even my children. In my truest, most vulnerable state, will I be enough? Expectations of myself seem to be a form of self-protection.
I’m learning that when expectation leaks in, I become controlling, focused on a preconceived outcome. An outcome of a perfect picture, in which I am acceptable because of what I do. What’s new, as I am intentionally desiring to be present, is letting go of the outcome. I’m becoming aware expectations are a place I can hide who I really am, doing all the right things, making everything look perfect, keeping my flaws and humanness hidden.
Jesus doesn’t have expectations of me. He invites me to be close to him, to learn the unforced rhythm of grace from him (Matt 11:28-30, Msg). As I can slow down and truly experience the gift of Him abiding in me and intentionally abiding in Him, I am safe. I am enough. I am breathing in His grace and His truth, and I breathe His grace out. Rivers of living water are freed to flow from Jesus to those around me.
As I prepare for the arrival of my girls for our annual Christmas pie baking date, I get out aprons for all of us, including Ellie, who’s not quite 2. Toys are out for her, knowing her involvement this year will be minimal. I’ve done the preparatory things I need to be able to be as present as possible, while measuring and reading the recipe. I make plenty of space for everyone to work together, preparing a place for them. Here’s the huge shift for me; I determine the importance of the event is being together, allowing my daughter and my granddaughters to see themselves in my eyes of love and unconditional acceptance for just who they are. If we end up with pies, that’s a bonus!
Well, the event is now over. The time went much too fast! My 10-year-old granddaughter did most of the cooking of the meat filling for their family pies this year, side by side with her Jaja. Ellie seemed to enjoy wearing her apron and seeing what we were doing occasionally. My daughter was free to just be, nursing Ellie as she was needed. It was such a precious time together. Oh, and by the way, the pies are excellent this year! My daughter’s family shared their traditional pie for dinner last night with a family they go caroling with in their neighborhood every year. I have sweet happy tears as I write.
Forgive me, Jesus, for not knowing how to give this to my children, for being unwilling to slow down and let the things that are so easily forgotten go. Sadly, I never understood that what they really needed and wanted was me. Deep down, I didn’t really believe I had anything of value to give them other than the things I could do for them; attempting to say all the right things. None of that mattered. As imperfect as I am, they wanted their mom, just like what I wanted most was my mom to see me and be with me. I was hiding in the “doing,” fearful being me wasn’t enough. Oh Jesus, please break these generational patterns as you are doing this beautiful work in me.
I pray we will all be able to put aside the picture-perfect ideals of Christmas celebrations this year. May we choose to sit at the feet of Jesus, letting fussing go so that Jesus can remind us we are enough. What our children want and need the most is us. I pray we will be able to simply see one another, hear one another, be with one another, being brave enough in the moment to say I love you so much it hurts sometimes, even amid melt downs, and messy moments.
The best present we can give our family this Christmas is our presence. Oh, my precious Jesus thank you for abiding in me, and helping me abide in you. Let it be your presence they see in me. May the memory of our time together be a sweet feeling of being seen and heard, feeling safe in my presence.