This morning I schlepped over to the home a friend of mine. A stay-at-home mom of three preschoolers, she feels limited in what she can offer the community. But my hat goes off to her: She invited an adult day program to her home to sing carols, read the Christmas story from the Bible, and a enjoy pretty great spread of snacks.
Somewhere in the middle of the singing, I remembered that besides just wanting to love on the participants or go through the happy holiday motions, I wanted the carols to sink into my heart, too.
But I also know that somewhere, a part of me resists this.
Missed the first list? Grab it here.
My husband and I sat at the empty dining-room table (um. Empty except for all the stuff my kids didn’t pick up), discussing Thanksgiving plans over a cobbled-together lunch. Him: leftover Mexican. Me: a bunch of stuff dumped in a bowl with tortilla chips. We were talking about what he hoped would happen; he turned to me.
I grew up amidst a small, tidy farm in central Illinois. The colors that primarily swirl in my memory are the rustling greenness that stretched in acres of corn or soybeans on every side, or the grass that could only be truly experienced through one’s toes. The affectionately flaking bright red of the barn stands tall in my mind, along with the mottled red of the apple trees, the streaked pink of rhubarb stems, the buttery yellow (and a peeping cacophony) of baby chicks. And there’s the white of our ancient farmhouse trimmed neatly with black shutters. Farms have their own simple beauty.
In all its celebration of the best, Christmas still has a way of exposing…reality.
Holiday gatherings with family can be fraught with frustration, hurt, and old habits–right alongside the pumpkin pie. Here, a few ideas to help you cook up a happier, freer Thanksgiving and beyond.
![Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language](https://www.janelbreitenstein.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/love-languages-text-1.jpg "Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language")
