photo: H. Dickens
So here I sit—presents still unwrapped, the blog unfinished, and a merry mess spread across every surface. The snowman muffin papers lie empty, waiting for baking that hasn’t happened yet. I’m printing gift certificates for one of our children who, through a long story best left untold, ended up a bit shortchanged compared to the others. It’s 10:30 PM and Santa arrives at our house bright and early tomorrow. Santa himself isn’t even ready yet (or so he says). We’ll have company tomorrow afternoon, and it’s been at least a week since I vacuumed.
Am I a complete holiday mom fail?
Should everything be perfect by now? Sigh.
The way I judge this week depends entirely on the measuring stick I choose. Christmas week can feel perfect if I stop viewing it through a “must make this the perfect holiday home” lens. The true perfection of the season doesn’t rest on my ability to be supermom; it rests on what began two thousand years ago.
Two thousand years ago, a perfect miracle was born in a humble stable on a cold, dark night. It didn’t occur in a grand palace or a flawlessly prepared home. The setting was far from ideal—plain, messy, and imperfect—but the miracle that took place there changed the world nonetheless.
So yes, by some standards I might feel like a holiday mom failure, but I refuse to let that be the measure of Christmas. Each year this time, I grow weary of the focus on elaborate houses and fancy décor, elaborate table settings, endless gift ideas, and ambitious home projects. There’s a pull in me to set all of that aside and quietly consider what Mary must have felt as she held that tiny life two millennia ago.
I want to slow down and quietly treasure the simple, holy moments that make the season meaningful—moments of presence, gratitude, and love that don’t require perfection or polished appearances. When I shift my focus from flawless execution to what truly matters, the week becomes enough: imperfect, real, and full of grace.
If you’re feeling the pressure to make everything picture-perfect, try letting go of one task or expectation tonight. Light a candle, sit with a warm drink, and remember that the heart of Christmas is not the spotless house or the perfectly wrapped gifts. It’s the miracle remembered and the love shared.
Come visit the original post to read more and share what you are quietly treasuring this Christmas.