I am a recovering Christmas decorations analyst. I am trying to rid myself of the obsessive need to critique the way people decorate the exteriors of their houses for the holidays.
My assessments would range from befuddlement over people who put out more plastic on their front lawns than their family recycled during the last 10 years to cringing at the sight of Santa Claus peering over baby Jesus in the manger. And I was always baffled at the sight of a house decorated with string after string of non-twinkling lights–except for that odd lone strand of twinkling lights on the bush at the far end of the house.
This year, my own decorations were a long way from what I would have considered “enhancing the beauty of my home,” one of my previous cardinal rules. In part, I simply was overwhelmed with all there was to do at this time of year.
Then I became intrigued with the imperfections in my decorations and the way they truly mirrored what goes on in families. Isn’t there always at least one family member who’s twinkling when everyone else is not? Isn’t there one, maybe more, family member who’s burned out while the others stay lit?
So my recovery starts with focusing on the fact that, imperfect as my decorations or anyone else’s may be, we are much like those strings of Christmas lights. As a family we’re all connected and our power comes from the same source: love.
