I could blame Pinterest. I could say it was all Facebook's fault. The magazines Real Simple and Southern Living could be given at least part of the credit.
As I scroll through pretty pins and polished posts online or turn the glossy pages of perfected photographs in the printed publications, I think to myself, "I could do that, " and "Wouldn't it be great if my house, kids and husband looked like that?".
These thoughts start innocent enough. The next thing I know however, I am anything but joyous and peaceful. My contentment is gone and bitterness comes creeping. Jealousy and insecurity take over.
My to-do list grows proportionally with the stress of trying to measure up to some fabricated view of no body's reality. My expectations of what the perfect Christmas ought to be, becomes skewed and unattainable.
Satan must laugh at me while I imagine my Heavenly Father patiently sighs as He calls me to His arms, gently telling me to be still.
No matter what I might try to do to make this the perfect Christmas, all my attempts will fall far short. I am imperfect. I cannot do or even fake my way to meet all my expectations. I can accept all this because of the fact that the perfect Christmas came 2000 years ago when my perfect Christ came to accept and save an imperfect me.
So I may lay off the Pinterest and the Facebook for awhile. The shiny magazines may just collect a little dust. I get into enough trouble with my silly expectations without their help. I don't want to be the butt of Satan's jokes. I am intentionally choosing to be still and celebrate the birth of my perfect Christ.
As a result, I know I will have the perfect Christmas.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment