Just wanted to share a taste of real life this Christmas in the Cravillion home. I love holiday traditions. Coziness. Laughter. Memories. But with two children this year in our household, the craziness has multiplied. I’ll be honest, most days this December have been crabby and exhausting, not merry and bright.

But the reality is that real life is real life. The sooner you learn to love it and laugh with it, the better off you will be. In the middle of the hardness, pain, weariness and overwhelm, we can choose thankfulness and worship God in each moment, whether it’s magically perfect or terribly imperfect.

So…walk with me for a moment through our home on a typical day this holiday season?

Your Christmas card probably sat on our kitchen table for about three weeks before arriving in your mailbox.

   This was our kitchen the day we made dozens and dozens of Christmas cookies.

My little monkey rolling out the dough. And yes, it took probably twice as long as it would have been if I’d done it myself. We survived.

My son being himself. No angel faces here. Just pure Boy-ness.

Confession: I’m an anti-perfectionist in the kitchen and the sewing room. Making cookies with my toddler gives me an excuse for imperfect cookies. Thank. The. Lord.

I think that middle cookie is a snowman. I think.

Yes, we have flour on our faces. Yes, I have no makeup on. Yes, I’m wearing yoga pants. Yes, I yelled at him 60 seconds before we took this photo. Yes, we can cherish the moments.

Sweet angel wasn’t pleased Momma was taking so long to finish. No sweet smiles and princess dresses by the Christmas tree on an ordinary day here.

After the cookies are gone, you discover there are more sprinkles on the counter than on the cookies.

This is what my toddler ordinarily does with his projects. And that’s okay.

Torn snowflakes taped to the front door…looking out on a brown Christmas Eve in Iowa.

But in the middle of the chaos, there are moments of peace. Flickering candlelight reflects the quiet of my soul in the middle of the noise.

And memory-making is moments built on top of each other. Times with family that aren’t perfect but are pure. Love that is sacrificial though faltering. Forgiveness and restoration moment by moment some days. Tears followed by hugs and laughter.

And then thankfulness. Always thankfulness.

Thank you, Father, for the chance to find joy in the chaos. The realization that moments don’t have to be perfect to be beautiful. The gift of your Son to bring light into our darkness and life to our worn out souls.

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