Picture Imperfect Holidays
One of my favorite pictures of our older daughter wasn’t my favorite the day I took it. On a beautiful Easter Sunday when she was about eight years old, I posed her among the Easter lilies and tulips near the church altar. She wore a new blue and white gingham dress, a couple of plastic bead necklaces she had chosen, ankle socks edged in eyelet lace, white Mary Jane shoes, a white straw hat and a scowl. I did everything I could to encourage a smile, but my efforts only provoked a deeper frown until I was in danger of not getting a picture at all.
Before attempting to click the shutter on my digital camera, I should have considered that the shyest of our children wasn’t – and still isn’t – a fan of the picture-taking ritual. But I wanted to capture that perfect moment of my darling girl in front of the perfect backdrop. Years later, this picture has become a treasured memory because it reminds me that my version of a perfect holiday is not God’s version.
My most meaningful Christmas was Dec. 25, 1992, the year Christmas was canceled. My husband and I were married earlier in the year, and we were looking forward to hosting Christmas dinner for our families in our new home.
We were awakened by our doorbell around 6:30 a.m. I was the first to get up and see the barn completely engulfed in flames through the window. Because we lived at a crossroads of rural townships, volunteer firefighters from four departments responded to the call – men who were pulled away from their families on that bitterly cold and windy Christmas morning. I felt sorry for them. I felt sorry for us. Feeling helpless, I called our parents and told them Christmas was canceled.
