It was a simple question, and one I doubt he expected would cause me to burst into tears.
I’ll admit it surprised me too.
“Ang, what do you want for Christmas?”
We were brushing our teeth, sharing a space, wearing mismatched pajamas.
And the dam broke.
“I don’t know. I don’t know!” I said it aggressively, twisting the toothbrush and avoiding eye contact in the mirror.
My heart was pounding and I felt angry. I didn’t have the slightest clue why, but being the Proverbs 31 wife I am, I expected him to know.
“Okay.” He said it quietly, because we both knew it wasn’t about the question.
It was about why I couldn’t give an answer without crying.
I put my toothbrush back in the cup and covered my face.
“I don’t know why I’m so upset.” I offered.
He hugged me in a way that said, “I want to be doing whatever I’m supposed to do as a good husband and I’m also a little fearful for my life.”
It was sweet.
I shook my head, which he knows means I need time to process.
“Well, when you think of something, just let me know.” I nodded, using the corner of a t-shirt I’ve owned for at least a decade.
After he left, I tried to get to the bottom of it. (Spoiler alert: I’m not entirely sure I have.)
Did I just want him to know without asking? Maybe, but I wouldn’t cry over it. In fact, I am kind of the type of girl who doesn’t mind saying she would like a specific sweater in a certain size from the one store down the street and also, no pressure, I put it on hold under your name.
Here’s another alternative: lately I’ve been way underwater and feeling like ten million people are asking me forty million questions and I don’t know the answers and I kind of want to hide and here is another question I can’t answer and I kind of want to hide because my brain is tired and I kind of want to hide (I may have mentioned that). Well, that has some merit. Maybe a little of that.
Also, it’s a lot of pressure for a type-A person like myself, because typically the Christmas present is bigger than other gifts and if this is my golden ticket, I don’t want to waste it. AND TIME IS RUNNING OUT, SO CHOOSE SOMETHING GOOD.
Some of that. Probably some of that.
None of these are options that would make me cry. And since I was still bawling, I was willing to bet there was something else underneath it.
He can’t give it to you.
I heard that, but I didn’t understand it.
Here’s the part where a good Christian writer would reference the gift that only God can give, but that’s so not where I’m going. My apologies.
It was an ache. A genuine, deep, grieving-type ache.
I wanted the magic to come back to Christmas.
I wanted it to be more than two people brushing their teeth, going through the motions, trying to figure out how they were going to get the tree up, get the presents wrapped, organize all the family gatherings so that no one feels left out and on and on and on.
I closed my eyes and thought about how it felt to fall asleep as a seven-year-old on Christmas Eve.
That’s what I want, Todd. Wrap it up, slap a bow on it, and let’s go back to when everything was simple.
When did Christmas go from anticipation to execution? From excitement to obligation? From dreaming to planning?
When did my life start to look like this instead of that?
I miss it.
Do you?
Do you ever long for your heart to do somersaults when you think about what’s waiting for you instead of worrying about doing it right?
I have theories on this, naturally. {I’m looking at you, Instagram. Heyyyy, Facebook…I see you.}
I want to go back.
I miss that girl.
So this year, I’m trying to figure out how to answer the question. Not just for Christmas, but for every single day: What do I want?
I want less planes, less stress, less feeling inadequate at everything because I’m stretched thin. I want to embrace the peace that Jesus has promised me and stop chasing every other thing that moves.
I think I was rattled by Todd’s question because I don’t know what I want; like many of us, I suppose I stopped asking that long ago.
But life is running past me, and all I know is that I want to go back.
That’s my heartbeat this year—getting back to genuine excitement, a true sense of direction and purpose, and the courage to drown out the voices that tell me I have to keep up.
Want to join me?
In the meantime, Toddy, my love…
There’s something with your name on it at Anthropologie. You can run and go grab it and wrap it terribly (which I love) and then ask me to wear it while you tell me I look beautiful (which you will because you always do, and I’ll shake my head because I don’t even know what you see).
But I’ll smile because I want to believe she’s still there, and I think she is.
So I’m going back, and I’m going to find her.
And next year, when you ask me, I’ll have an answer that makes me smile. I’m sure of it.
I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m already excited, which means, well, dare I say it?
It’s never too late for magic.