So here it is, Merry Christmas!
Husband left the house at eight am on Christmas Eve for back to back services and gatherings; came home for three hours; and then left again, to be back home at 2am. He’ll sleep until the kids wake at 6 and is preaching again tomorrow morning!
And you know what… it’s been fine.
Husband is fresh-faced and energised by a full day of “proper ministry” and has loved every minute.
“I just hope I can sustain the energy!” Says he.
“Yes… for the next 30 years!” Says I.
Meanwhile, the kids and I have mainly watched back-to-back Christmas movies, (with a brief tangent into Shaun the Sheep, as Toddler really doesn’t grasp the concept of genre…). We then walked to church, made Christingles, sang carols and I had a jolly nice sit down whilst the Vicar’s teens ran after my toddlers.
Not bad at all!
Nevertheless, amongst the stories and the excitement, the wrapping, relaxing and even the odd snuggle… within Husband’s three hours at home, (and after 8 years of marriage!) we still managed to bicker about:
The colour, state and quality of the wrapping;
The positioning of the presents;
Santa or Father Christmas?;
When to have breakfast in the morning;
When to get ready;
When to actually open the presents;
When to have Christmas Dinner?!
And when, oh dear, I should go to bed tonight, (definitely earlier than now!)
Typical example of a Curate’s first Christmas?
But maybe not.
Maybe actually more typical when:
A perfectionist marries a horizontal “dude”;
A northerner marries a southerner;
A non-Christian child marries a clergy kid;
A spoiled child marries a clergy kid!
And then all of these combined, breed kids of their own!
Every year we manage to fall out about some form or lack of tradition; every year I claim we’re headed more towards his childhood Christmas and further and further away from mine.
Because every year, despite knowing it in the depths of my soul and pretty much commiting our daily lives to the cause of Christmas; I always manage to forget what it’s really all about. I always allow Christmas to trigger hang-ups about traditions and nostalgia; to get carried away with the organisation and the planning, the serving and the spoiling.
To, you know, act like everybody else, basically!
But maybe one year, I’ll stop being so uptight and get it right;
Maybe I’ll remember true Joy to the World that Holy Night?
Maybe tomorrow, even, I’ll relax and see the light;
See Jesus, from manger to cross, and let my sorry soul take flight!
And maybe… just maybe…
When I’m not quite so pregnant, I’ll be a proper, supportive Curate’s wife?!
But, I guess, for now…
Merry Christmas to all,
And to all a good night!