I cried every Christmas morning for years. My mom graciously knew to just go ahead and prepare her heart. Every single year I would get my hopes up way too high and then I would be disappointed with the earrings, or sticker books, or puppy that I received under the tree. Nothing ever quite measured up to my idealized expectations of a perfect Christmas morning. I thought I was just a delicate and tender flower with a heart full of big dreams. But, daggum, if I wasn’t just years and years of being selfish and ungrateful.
To this day, it’s tough for me to remember that Christmas is not about me. I buy five sets of matching Christmas jammies, not really so that my kids will know the true meaning of Christ born for them, but so that I can feast my eyes on coordinated holiday squishy gorgeousness on Christmas morning. The truth is, I need to repent of even my very best moments and plans (Isaiah 64:6).