Just as Lockdown showed me the ugly side of my character, so this recent ankle injury has revealed things I would rather have remained hidden. Despite the old adage, in this case, pride comes after a fall.
Numerous people have offered to help - which has been greatly appreciated - but I have refused. Mostly because with just two of us at home, and still being able to hobble around somewhat, I feel that we can cope. But there is also a sense of pride lying behind those reasons that I have been reluctant to admit.
Except now, as we head towards Christmas, and the whole family coming together to remember and celebrate, I'm chafing at my inability to cook and clean and do so many of the things that I like to do to prepare for Christmas. DH has offered to help but aware that he has his own things to do and is always really busy at work at this time of year, I've been reluctant to ask him to do too much. I have, however, hinted at a number of things I would like done, which he has failed to take up.
Between my frustration at being unable to do things, my disappointment that the place is not going to be picture perfect for Christmas, and my misplaced sense of pride - well, let's just say that it's not always been pretty.
I know that once family get here, I'll be happy just to see them, and as they spread out over the house, probably no one will care that the windows didn't get washed or that no one vacuumed under the couches or that the ceilings aren't as clean as they could be. And the true meaning of Christmas has nothing to do with any of those things … which I'm having to work hard on remembering.
Last Sunday The Most Amazing Granddaughters#4 - #7, along with their Sunday School peers, beautifully retold the Christmas story. Their innocence, their sense of wonder, and just hearing the story again, reminded me once again of the true meaning of Christmas.
That meaning is not to be found in clean floors, or exquisitely wrapped presents, or even in family gathering around the table (although the latter is definitely important). No, the meaning of Christmas is found in a humble stable, and even more humble manager, and in the Babe who is the Son of God, the Light of the World.
He became nothing so that we could become children of God. He put aside all that He was, and came to earth as a tiny, helpless babe.
If it ended there it would be incredible. But it didn't. Instead, He grew and preached and eventually suffered the most horrendous death imaginable so that our sins could be paid for once and for all.
When I consider all that He has done - all that He was willing to do - surely I can learn to put aside my little bit of pride?
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