Christmas. The lights. The sparkle. Pittsburgh actually dubbed the run-up to Christmas as Sparkle Season at one point. And that it is.

I scroll through Instagram and see cozy homes lit by fire glow. Magnificent trees and Christmasy home décor. Gifts, gifts, and gifts galore.

Families with twice as many children as I do have carefully observed every Advent practice and feast culminating in a languid and joy-filled celebration of the 12 Days of Christmas straight through Epiphany and on to Candlemas Day. I know because they document it in posts and stories.

In my weaker moments, I’m tempted to envy. In my too-small house with growing children and shrinking income, my celebration doesn’t compare. Theirs teems with Christmas revelry, ours brims with clutter.

A grateful heart is the best antidote. But a discerning eye also reminds me that all is not what it may seem.

We need a God who humbled Himself to enter the human family with all its weaknesses. #Christmas Click To Tweet

I can show you our Nativity, where baby Jesus lies beneath the loving glow of Mary and Joseph.

And you wouldn’t see that next to it sits a pile of school papers waiting for Daddy’s examination.  You wouldn’t know that this is the first time these decorations have seen the light of day in a decade. They’ve sat in the attic untouched for years while we were overwhelmed by babies and toddlers.

I can show you our beautifully decorated tree.

And you wouldn’t see the heap of displaced stuff moved to make way for our artificial friend. You wouldn’t hear the short-tempered parent yelling at the kids for mishandling ornaments. You wouldn’t hear the cries of the child who was punched in the stomach by his sister for  an unknown offense nor hear the wails of the offender sentenced to sit on the stairs.

You wouldn’t know how many times the vomit bucket has been moved around the living room over the past week between two kids with stomach bugs and one who seems to have a psychosomatic response to being instructed to brush his teeth. Or the kid that guzzles so much water it has been known not to stay down.

I can show you a mouth-watering collection of the cookies we baked.

You wouldn’t see that they were baked in a kitchen that was likely last remodeled in the mid-twentieth century. The homebrewing equipment and supplies strewn over half of the kitchen? You’d have no way of knowing.

I can show you the pecan squares we made for the first time.

You wouldn’t know how the ones on the edge of the pan were dried and burnt. Or how I threw those pieces on the perimeter into the trash. Or how the whole container tumbled into a giant bucket filled with sanitizer for brewing equipment.

You’d never know that half the time I looked at the baking pans this year, I teared up. The pans, which I think may have been a wedding present given to my parents in 1954, would look to you like plain-old pans.

But when I see them, I can’t help but miss my mother, more now than I did when she died five months ago, and wonder how I could have been a better daughter. So many happy memories are tied to baking with my mother, using those old, dark pans.

(Sadly, those memories didn’t include the fact that with dark pans, the oven temperature should be adjusted twenty-five degrees lower. See burnt pecan squares, above.)

Maybe your Christmas this year has been picture perfect! Occasionally that happens, and when it does, yippee!

But, I’m guessing that regardless of what you’ve shared with others in person or on social media, your Christmas looks a little like mine. Imperfect.

If this Christmas hasn’t measured up to some invisible standard – self-imposed or otherwise – you’re not alone.

• If you have babies or toddlers underfoot . . . you get a pass.
• If you or a loved one has been ill . . . you get a pass.
• If you’re grieving . . . you get a pass.
• If you plain don’t feel like dealing with the  hoopla . . . you get a pass too.

Because while family memories are built around some of those must-do traditions, in the end, they’re not needed. Christmas comes and goes with or without them.

Likewise, spotless souls, Instagram-perfect families (if they existed), and an untarnished world don’t need a savior.

But we do.

Jesus comes to sinful hearts.

Jesus comes to fragile families.

Jesus comes to a broken world.

You may carve out the burnt edges and toss them quietly in the garbage, but He’s already accounted for every crumb.

We need a God who humbled Himself to enter the human family with all its weaknesses.

“Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong.”

– 2Corinthians 12:10

From my imperfect home to yours, may you be blessed by God’s abundant love for you this season.

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