This time of year brings to mind memories of childhood Christmases. The pattern in our house rarely changed from year to year, and I loved it. I would anticipate every second, from munching on crunchy party mix at my dad’s house on Christmas Eve, to playing in the backyard at my aunt and uncle’s on Christmas afternoon.

I always knew what to expect, and I thrived on the predictability of it all.

I don’t know how my parents managed to pull it off, with the challenges divorce can bring. But somehow they did. I felt safe knowing what our holidays had in store.

As a wife, mom, stepmom, and step-Mimi, holidays have been a bit more unexpected, and sometimes even unpredictable.

For years I tried to create a Christmas season our family could count on and look forward to each year. But outside factors and challenges always seemed to interrupt my best laid plans.

Frustration and bitterness have a way of surfacing in times like this, when lost expectations cause me to feel like my holiday isn’t good enough. Whether I’m comparing my plans to years past, or to friends’ posts on social media. With a simple scroll, I can easily become overwhelmed with pic after pic of recipes, decorations, and family outings that put my spur-of-the-moment schedule to shame.

When we’re tempted to compare our holidays, we risk losing the mountain of blessings right where we are. Expectations of what we long for become the enemy of what we already have. But God offers a better way.

“Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.” Philippians 4:11

Expectations can push contentment into the shadows, but God renews our contentment with the light of each new day.

I’m learning to be content with my circumstances and schedule through Thanksgiving and Christmas. Even when they take an abrupt turn. In fact, our current circumstances will have an effect on my ability to plan, go, and do as much as I’d like through this year’s holiday season. But when disappointment tries to creep in, I will remind myself of God’s promise to me. His presence is always here when we choose to focus on him. He will fill us with joy and peace through the holidays.

Our holiday doesn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful.

With this in mind, you may be thinking, “But my holiday can’t be wonderful. Not this year. Too much has happened.”

I am right there with you. I am, and I understand. May I share something with you? One thing I’ve learned is this…

We can let a diagnosis, grief, or hurt determine our path for the days ahead. Or, we can allow it to draw us into the throne-room of grace, where mercy, hope, and healing reside.

We have a choice for this holiday and those that follow, as well. May we find the strength and solace in Christ to take all the comparison, expectation, disappointment, and frustration and cast it away. Let’s live in the moment, right now, where we are. Whatever our circumstances.

I am praying each of us has a wonderful, imperfect, unexpected, sometimes painful but always grace-filled holiday season.

To discover more about letting go of comparison and embracing God’s plan, visit the Over It book page here.

“Number 17, number 9, number 4,” the master called out, as we stood there in our best black leotards and pink tights. Hearing my number would mean just one thing. I would be a snowflake in the Nutcracker ballet! I held my breath and listened.

My number wasn’t called.

The new snowflakes skipped out of the room where proud mommas waited. I lined up in the corner with the remaining ballerinas. The next numbers called would join the cast of party clowns. Not as glamorous as a snowflake, but still included. One by one we cartwheeled across the floor. The girls with the best cartwheels heard their numbers.

My cartwheel didn’t show much promise.

Last chance… The final few returned to the corner, again. Our audition was about to end, but the director still needed to cast the mice. Not as fun as a party clown, but at least I would get to participate, right? He sang the directions in cadence. “Run out into the center and act like a mouse.”

How does a mouse act, anyway?

Without a clue what to do, I followed the other mice wannabes. I scurried, scratched my nose, and wiggled my tail with as much mice-like conviction as I could muster. It just wasn’t enough. With the final numbers still lingering in the air, my Nutcracker dreams died.

“It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.” Deuteronomy 31:8 ESV

Rejection doesn’t end when we grow up. Those feelings can follow us into adulthood. Even when I have a handle on my identity and feel like I’ve moved beyond the need for acceptance, one simple event can bring me back to that memory, when my number wasn’t called.

An email stating my writing isn’t what they’re looking for.

A call saying they’ve given the job to another applicant.

Hearing, “We appreciate your offer to help, but you’re just not the right fit.”

That thought wondering why I wasn’t invited to lunch with the others.

Any of these scenes can send me back to that moment on the dance floor, searching for a place to hide. Holding my breath once again, feeling that heavy heart drop when I’m not included.

But when feelings of rejection surface, we have four strong promises from the verse above to hold onto.

God goes before me.
God will be with me.
God will never leave me.
God will not forsake me.

The truth is, we never have to feel abandoned when we have God. Rejection is a lie created to make us think we are less than who God says we are. Deuteronomy 31:8 speaks straight to that lie and offers neverending hope from the threat of rejection.

Let’s recite these aloud today.

God goes before me. He will be with me. He will never leave me. He will not forsake me.

Proclaiming these promises restores our identity as daughters of the King. So even if we aren’t destined to be a snowflake, a party clown, or a mouse, God’s plan is more fabulous than we can imagine.

And His love for us will overpower rejection every single time.

Blessings,

Kristine