Christmas guinea pigs, and ham, and why it is never enough

It is those last two days right before Christmas that get me.

No amount of preaching true meaning, or shopping ahead of time, or simplifying the menu and leaving empty space for life giving waters, ever works when it comes to those final pressing hours. It is in those two quick moving days that crazy takes hold of me; when fear pushes me and any remaining common sense out of the stable, and into the mad crowd.

Nick and I had made it very clear...crystal clear...that there would be no live pets under the Christmas tree this year. But panic set in as the 25th grew near. As brown boxes got dressed in paper and bows, and I assessed the stacks and piles, that hideous fear swooped on in, threw wisdom out my bedroom window, and whispered in my ear, "it is not enough."

I hate that feeling, and it happens every year.

I try to cut back.

I put my foot down.

I attempt to move from the Christmas the world says we must have to the Christmas my family so desperately needs.

But then in those final hours, something inside of me snaps, and I end up back in my car, running and racing, and more often than not, it results in something furry with four legs.

And can I just say, in my defense, I have had hard weeks.

HARD weeks.

I wake up, roll over, and there it is ...that cross...my cross...the one I am told to pick up and carry every single day, if I want to follow Jesus.

Why couldn't He had said every other day?

Because I think I could do that.

But every day?

Good grief, I do not know that I can.

And so when I am feeling weak, and burdened, when I feel afraid, I have three "go to's" to help me through.

1. I cut my hair short

2. I buy a live animal

3. I pray

In that order.

And I will bet if I put prayer first, I would have beautiful long hair and a clean home, free of pet hair.

One day. One day I will get it right.

But clearly, not this Christmas.

Once again, I got it wrong.

Now, I can tell you the whole long story of how just days before Christmas, I caved from stress, and I promised one daughter a long haired guinea pig.

And how I asked the other daughter to hide it in her room.

And how that other daughter fell in love with the other daughter's guinea pig.

They took videos together, and selfies.

She even named it.

And once you name something, you know what happens.

You claim it as your own.

And how, as I caved under stress once again, I told that other daughter that SHE could have the long haired guinea pig and I would get another long haired guinea pig to give the sister who actually asked for, and was promised, a long haired guinea pig.

And how now, there WERE NO MORE LONG HAIRED GUINEA PIGS ANYWHERE TO BE FOUND.

And how now, I had one daughter mad at me and crying because I promised she could have it.

And how I went and bought a short haired guinea pig, thinking surely she would like it, but it only made her cry harder.

And how my husband, God bless this man who puts up with my total insanity, spent the day before Christmas Eve calling every pet store in Connecticut looking for another long haired guinea pig.

How did this all end?

Santa left THREE guinea pigs under the tree.

Yup. We went from NO live pets, to THREE live pets.

Our parenting book comes out this Spring, in case you are interested in poorly raising your family.

Good grief.

It is never going to be enough.

When will I learn?

IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH.

I can give my teens everything they ask for, and it will never be enough.

Not for them, not for me.

I can race and run and even out piles, and still...it will never be enough.

Someone is always upset, hearts are always broken, and desires are always unmet, because it is never going to be enough.

There is nothing that Santa, or myself, can wrap and put under the tree that will ever be enough.

So long as the focus is here on earth, it will never be enough.

I can shave my head bald and buy an entire farm, and it will never be enough.

Those last days before Christmas are the ones I want to spend on bended knees, in quiet Adoration. Instead, I am at Petco, looking like a crazy woman, buying a herd of sows. (Thanks to my husband who researched guinea pigs, I know this is the correct term for many guinea pigs-which we now have.) And this mania all stems from my unrealistic desire to accommodate everyone; to please all and to keep things under my roof peaceful, to avoid let down and sorrow and dodge disappointment at all costs, especially on Christmas morning. I feel like I work too hard at making Christmas Day special to allow any pain or sadness in.

And then, when it is too late; when gifts are opened and boxes are left empty, I remember.

Christmas for Mary and Joseph was not void of sorrow.

Every joyful moment for the Holy Family, was outlined in profound sorrow.

A trek to Bethlehem.

No room at the Inn.

A birth all alone.

The knowledge that their newborn was in great danger.

Fleeing to Egypt in the middle of the night.

This is not a picture post card of egg nog and jingle bells.

This was not a Christmas day full of joy and cheer.

Christmas joy comes wrapped in sorrow. The tiny wood of the manger that holds the baby, leads to the wood of the cross that puts to death the same baby.

And the truth?

And I am the one that put Him there.

You know, in the midst of the last minute guinea pig mania, I ran into Stop and Shop for a ham because I feared the beef we had would not be enough, and thought I would grab just a little extra Christmas candy because the voice in my head was telling me I did not buy enough. I was tired, and quite frankly, over it, and when I reached the Christmas candy aisle, I discovered, it was all gone, and replaced with Valentine's Day chocolate. He had not yet been born, and it was all gone. I then stood with my ham at the cashier, who was not able to find a price. And as we waited for a price from the worlds slowest grocery associate, and my eyes kept on the clock because there was still so much to do, the line behind me grew longer and longer, until finally, an angry man at the end of the line shouted at the top of his lungs, "COME ON...MOVE IT!" It startled me, and I turned my head to see his face; this madman who clearly had a heart of stone and was missing the point of Christmas. And when I saw his tired face, I whispered an apology to Mary and Joseph, because it stuck me. While I was not the one shouting at the top of my lungs at Stop and Shop, maybe I was no different than that angry man; agitated and restless, wanting to move it all along, just wanting to get it all over with. Had I been the one on this line who missed the point; who forgot about Mary and Joseph, their journey to Bethlehem, their yes that changed the world and gave me reason to buy that stupid ham in the first place?

Oh, this sad world.

Move fast, buy more, fill every empty space possible so that there is no room left for Jesus.

Fill it with ham and chocolate and guinea pigs, then move on to the next.

And while these moments are sad, they are also necessary.

Truth be told, God has an awesome way of putting me right here...of allowing me to stray from the stable and go to all sorts of crazy places to fill up, until I realize I am not only unsatisfied, but worse off than when I started; until I realize that feeling like there is not enough is a good thing. Not enough points me to Who is enough; not enough shows me the babe in the manger, then points me to the cross. And it is when I surrender, and lay my not enough at His feet, that He has room to enter in, to fill me up, to whisper "I am here, and that is enough."