I was waiting in the dentist’s office with my one month old son for his lip and tongue tie to be corrected. Weeks of painful breastfeeding and bad latch had led us here and I had such hope for this fix. I sat in a dental chair while my sweet boy snoozed on my chest. I could hear the tiny whistle of his small snores and pure love softened my smile. I was hoping it would happen soon when a dental assistant rounded the corner and spoke the five words I did not want to hear, “It’s not covered by insurance.” Gasp. There was no way I was leaving without this happening. “Okay, how much?” Another gasp. My husband and I looked at each other, swallowed hard and knew we were going to make it work, but in the pit of my stomach I could feel regret.
Regret that I’m an emotional shopper. Regret that I turn to shopping to relieve anxiety and stress. Regret that this past week I spent way too much on Christmas lights from Sam’s club because I wanted our house to be a beacon of light. Regret that I had five bags from Hobby Lobby sitting in my closet full of the perfect Christmas décor for my tree and table centerpieces, because my tree was going to shine and my table sparkle. But most of all I regretted the knowledge that I was going to have to return it all. Thank goodness I kept the receipts. That night I put on my big girl pants and loaded it all into the back of my van. But you know what shocked me the most as I loaded one Hobby Lobby bag after another, I started to cry. I know, I know. It’s silly and feel free to make fun of me, if you can think it, I’ve probably already said it in my head. But the tears were flowing because while shopping with my two year old by my side, I had created a dream in my head about what Christmas would look like and how each item would contribute to that vision. Don’t we do that with most “want” purchases. We fantasize about the joy, peace, order they will bring to our lives.
I must confess as one who knows, most “Shopaholics” travel to the store with some kind of hole needing to be filled. Sometimes for me it is a place of grief. A place where I try to envision new beautiful memories born out of objects instead of the people I have lost along the way.
I sure do miss my grandma (affectionately known as Mammie) and how we shopped together, but bags full of Christmas stuff won’t bring her back. After all the bags were loaded and my sweet husband helped return them to save me the embarrassment, I sat down to dinner and prayed. Once again my Savior gave me a perspective shift. He calls me by name, but feel free to replace mine with your own below if you feel led.
Morgan, on that first Christmas, there were no decorations or cute nativity sets, or romanticized pictures of Mary and Joseph gathered around a baby. Instead there was a very real raw birth experience with dirt and sweat and yes even blood, having just given birth a month ago the painful reality of it is still fresh. There was cold damp air and the foul smells of a barn. It was enough to make any new mom terrified. There was a young scared woman who had never given birth trusting an unseen God with her entire being as she struggled through each contraction. There were no cute baby outfits to take the baby home in, only old pieces of cloth bundled together. There were no Christmas lights or lit up pine trees, but instead a brilliant star of Bethlehem leading humanity back to the true gift, the birth of Jesus.
You see Christmas came that first year without all the extra, without all our wants, without all our to-do lists, without all our presents, without all our décor. God had to remind me what advertisers are doing everything to make us forget. “He is enough.”
“While they were there, the time had come for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”
Luke 2:6
If you would like to hear more on my musings about this topic, visit my YouTube channel “Life and Lilacs” by clicking the link below. Thanks for watching!
