Four more days.
That’s how much longer we have to celebrate this season of merriment and grouchiness.
I’m walking a thin line between the two. I’m looking forward to the screaming and laughing and togetherness of Christmas morning, but I don’t think I’m going to miss the music. And the stress. I’ve had enough Fa-La-La-La.
I admit I am completely embracing the hiatus from carpools and school and dance and choir and sports. Out of curiosity, I kept track of my mileage for one week. Two hundred ninety-eight point seven miles in seven days. Averaged over a year, that’s more than fifteen thousand five hundred miles. That’s a lot of miles. That is a lot of time in the car.
That is excellent ammunition for the next time a little person backtalks to me.
So I’m enjoying a little more time at home and a little less in the Loser Cruiser.
Yesterday, though, was ugly. I spent my day curled up into a pathetic little ball of self-loathing and pity because someone close to me threw me under a bus in a huge betraying way, and the bottom of a bus is not a fun place to be…especially the week before Christmas. I hung on to the underside of that bus for a while, bumped and scraped, suffering a painful bout of road rash. Then the bus dropped me off at the nearest pot hole, and I sat there in the stinky, oily runoff water and wallowed in my pathetic existence, thought all kinds of curse words and plans of revenge and screaming diatribes about the injustice of being thrown under a bus.
Thankfully, I went to sleep before acting upon any of my plans for retaliation.
There is a fine line between conviction and condemnation. I, unfortunately, chose The Dark Side – until a dear friend let me vomit all my self-loathing into her lap, and when I was done, she reassured me that I am Good and I am Loved.
Then more friends came alongside me and reminded me that I am Valued and Important.
So now I am happy again. I stepped back over the line to conviction, which is where we face our mess and allow God to redeem it, but we don’t let it define us. I do have a big mess, and my drop-kick under the bus opened my eyes to that reality, but instead of allowing it to devour me, I choose to devour it. I choose to open my tight-fisted hands and let go. I choose to work on my mess, seek wisdom, ask forgiveness. I choose to love.
Which should make Christmas much more pleasant.
Also, I have pledged to never throw anyone under a bus, no matter how stupid and ridiculous they are. It’s just not nice.
Merry Christmas, y’all.
PS: This is amazingly beautiful…and this made me laugh so hard I almost peed in my pants. If you haven’t met Glennon, please give yourself a Christmas gift of time to read her stuff. I want to be her when I grow up.