Pre-Order So God Made a Mother

Two-thirds of the lights on our Christmas tree don’t light up. It’s also leaning a bit to the right. My Christmas dishes are still in a box in the garage. The girls keep asking when Daddy is going to put the lights up on our house (Ummm . . . ). The two-year-old’s stocking is anonymously hanging from the mantle next to his older sisters’ monogrammed ones. I’m not sending out Christmas cards. I don’t do Elf on the Shelf. My kids don’t know “Away in a Manger.”

Even as I type that last one, I cringe. I mean, what have I been doing all day if not singing religious carols?

The biggest part of me knows Christmas is not made up of these things. 

But there’s a little sliver of me feeling a prick of guilt, like I haven’t painted the perfect setting for my children to experience the wonder and whimsy of Christmas.

I worry, Is my children’s Christmas experience being hindered by me? So, I think back to my childhood Christmases and try to put my finger on what it was exactly that made it all so magical.

I see the Christmas tree nestled into the corner with colorful lights and presents spilling from beneath into the middle of my grandparents’ living room. I see my mom, Nana, and aunts sitting on the couch holding hands, catching up on all the scuttlebutt about town while the men display just how many brain cells have been dedicated to sports teams. I see Poppi stooping down to sweep up the dirt piles we’d tracked in while unloading our suitcases.

I hear laughter, rambunctious screams, and the hum of the dust buster (he couldn’t quite get all of the specks with the broom alone). The smell of sugar cookies wafts through the room as I pop open the Tupperware lid and sneak a couple just before stuffing a handful of green and red M&M’s into my mouth from the crystal dish by the door. I hear Super Mario disappear into a green pipe (dudda-dudda-dudda) and head outside to enjoy a walk to 7-11 for some Slurpees with my cousins in the 70-degree December weather.

I can still feel the excitement of being together, of arrival, of anticipation quenched, the feeling of love so thick and sticky it’s unavoidable. Hugs and kisses are given out like candy and received like healing balms. Nobody can escape them but, then again, nobody wants to.

I remember it all so vividly.

Yet, some things I don’t.

I don’t remember anything being especially decorated. I don’t remember Pottery Barn centerpieces or adorable buntings hung from the mantle or expensive holiday pillows or monogrammed stockings. I don’t remember time-consuming DIY projects or a Pinterest-worthy tree.

That all might have been there. But if it was, I don’t remember.

My grandparents’ house was not particularly beautiful. Its brick facade was plain and modest. Its rooms were filled with mismatched furniture; the narrow kitchen could have used a remodel (even though it had actually been remodeled) and the white square tile floor wouldn’t be found within any designer’s portfolio.

But if asked the most beautiful place in the world as a child, that little house in Smithville, Texas would have been the uncontested winner. In my innocence, beauty was still dictated by joy, by love, by goodness. I had not yet been jaded by airbrushed, staged, or filtered photos. The epitome of beauty to that nine-year-old girl was an 1,800 square foot ranch-style home with tan carpet and popcorn ceilings.

‘Tis the beauty of the Christmas story.

That night, with the cows and the straw and the literal crap, the scene didn’t look much like an Anthropologie catalog. You see, God didn’t even wrap the gift. He didn’t adorn it with a big tulle bow. God did not bother himself with trappings, tinsel, glitter.

The beauty of that moment was not to be found in the package, but in the contents.

God stooped down from the Heavens to place His infant son in a drafty stable as if to demand we recognize the beauty of humility. He picked this, this beginning. He chose to introduce a Savior to the world in this precise way because He knew our idols would someday reek of perfectionism and opulence, of measuring up and looking the part, of vanity.

The story is beautiful because He came. Not because He came in splendor. Not because He came in glory. Not because He came in luxury. But because He came at all.

This Christmas, I pray that I won’t feel the need to wrap up and dress up and put up and pin up. That it will be less about creating the most beautiful home for everyone else to envy and more about creating the most holy space for my family to sit at the tiny feet of a tiny Savior. That I will be a gatherer of imperfect people, not perfect pictures.

So maybe my house will look cute. Or maybe I will decide that I don’t have the energy. Either way, Jesus will be there. Because, Praise the Lord, He already came.

Originally published on the author’s blog.

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our new book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available for pre-order now!

Pre-Order Now

Jordan Harrell

Jordan writes about the days with her three kids and wonderful husband to help her get through the days with her three kids and wonderful husband. She's really good at eating chocolate, over-analyzing everything, and forgetting stuff. In 2017, Jordan founded fridaynightwives.com, a blog and boutique that serves as a ministry for coaches' wives. You can find her at jordanharrell.comFacebookInstagram, or Twitter.

Dear Busy Sports Mom: It’s Worth It

In: Kids, Motherhood, Tween
Mom watching soccer game, photo from behind

My daughter stands on the front porch every morning and waves goodbye to me as I pull out of the driveway to go to work.  She is 11, and recently eye-rolling, long sighs, and tears have become more commonplace in our daily interactions. But, there is also this: “Bye! Have a good day!” she calls to me in the quiet of early morning, neighbors not yet awake in their still dark houses. “You are AMAZING! You got this!” she continues in her little adult voice, sounding more like a soccer mom than a fifth grader.   Her hair is still a...

Keep Reading

Goodbye to the Baby Hangers

In: Kids, Motherhood
Shirt hanging from small hanger, color photo

You bought them when you first found out you were pregnant. It may have been one of the first items, actually, to hold all of the precious new clothes. The smallest ones in your household. Do you remember that first newborn onesie you bought? It was one of your favorites. You couldn’t fathom you would soon hold something so small that would fit into that onesie. You washed all of the new clothing in preparation and hung them up in your baby’s closet. You know the item. A miniature version of the ones in your closet. Baby hangers. “Do we...

Keep Reading

Take the Trip, You Won’t Regret It

In: Kids, Living, Motherhood

Two years ago, in the middle of a snowy, windy, Colorado March, my husband and I made the spontaneous decision to road trip to Arizona with our three very young kids.  Even though I was excited, the nerves were so very real. Over the next couple of weeks, I literally lost sleep worrying about the logistics of our trip. My late-night mindless scrolling was replaced by searches like “traveling with toddlers” and “keeping kids entertained on road trips”. We already had our hands full chasing kids at home in a familiar setting. Were we crazy to think we could just...

Keep Reading

They’ll Remember the Love Most of All

In: Kids, Motherhood
Woman with kids from above, pregnant mother with kids hands on belly

You lie in bed at the end of a long day, the events of the day flashing back through your mind. You do this a lot—recap your day as a mama. How did you do? Did you maintain your patience? Did you play enough? Did you limit screen time? Did you yell less today than you did yesterday? You saw a really neat toddler activity in the group you’re a part of on Facebook . . . you should have done that with the kids. They would have loved it. There wasn’t enough time though, and you didn’t have all...

Keep Reading

He’s Slowly Walking Away with Footprints As Big As Mine

In: Child, Kids, Motherhood, Tween
Teen boy walking along beach shore

The true measure of a mother’s love is her willingness to wake up before the sun on vacation. On a recent trip to the shore, my youngest son begged to walk the beach at dawn to look for shells. So, I set my alarm, tumbled out of a warm, king-sized bed with extra squishy pillows, glared at my dead-to-the-world husband, and gently woke my 11-year-old. Without so much as a drop of coffee, we headed out into the morning, the sun still below the ocean horizon. With each step, I shed my zombie-like state and took in the quiet, salt-kissed...

Keep Reading

Dear Son, Raising You Right Is Worth It

In: Kids, Motherhood
little boy walking in sunlit field

You were the baby who slept nights. You were the infant who quietly stacked blocks one on top of the other. You were the toddler who watched other kids go down the slide at the park 20 times before attempting it yourself. You were the preschooler who hunkered down quietly and patiently when meeting your grandmother’s chickens. So I assumed you would be a gentle boy. And you are.   And yet, now that you’re eight, I’m beginning to understand the meaning of the phrase, “Boys will be boys.” I had my first inkling that day when you were five...

Keep Reading

Are You Watching?

In: Child, Kids, Motherhood
Little girl playing goalie at soccer practice, color photo

I brought a book to my 7-year-old daughter’s soccer practice. To be honest, I was looking forward to one hour of time when I didn’t have to do anything but sit. No one would be asking me questions, and no one would need anything from me. I wasn’t in charge. So, I set up my lawn chair, got cozy, and opened the book. But then I happened to glance up as it was her turn to run a drill. The coach was passing each kid the ball for them to kick into the goal. She stepped forward, kicked, and made...

Keep Reading

Here’s to the Apraxia Warriors

In: Kids
Smiling little boy, color photo

This one is for my son. My second born. My kind and gentle child. My apraxia warrior. From birth, he’s been my snuggler. The one whose favorite place in the whole world was anywhere near me. The happy baby, joyful toddler, and forever smiling child. The one who’d hide behind me when strangers approached. The one who doesn’t take risks and doesn’t want to try something new easily. The one who won’t make eye contact easily. Perceived by others as shy. But here’s the thing . . . he’s not shy, he’s a warrior!  What you and I take for granted...

Keep Reading

Sick Season Is Exhausting

In: Kids, Motherhood
Sick boy on couch taking a nap

I cried on the way to my daughters doctor’s appointment this morning. She is not seriously ill; I have friends who have been battling serious illness alongside their kids and I cannot imagine the toll that takes on a parent. Their experiences are far more life changing than the one I am about to share. But I cried this morning because this winter has been brutal on our little family and I am tired. I am tired of seeing my sweet kids sick and knowing there is not much I can do to ease their pain. I am tired of...

Keep Reading

Please See My Child for More than His ADHD

In: Kids, Motherhood
Little boy climbing playground equipment

When you see us in the store, you see a wild little boy who’s usually trying to run away from me or touching everything he can. If you see us at church, you see and hear a child who can’t sit quietly in the pews even though other kids his age are perfectly capable. If you see us at the park, you see a child who may get in the faces of other kids speaking a version of English that is hard to understand, and you may see him throw some sand or grab another child’s toy. Chances are, if...

Keep Reading