The weather here is finally crisp enough to hint at winter, and the mornings grow more frequent when I open my windows to see a glittering haze of frost on the yard. I pause as I walk past the vents in our house, eager for the warmth on my toes. By the time evening comes, I’m ready for a warm blanket, a fire, and a cup of steaming tea between my hands.

At least in my part of the world, as the weather grows colder, we begin to think about the holidays. Our family has already started the coordinating of plans, and as I am accosted by sales and advertisements accompanied by jingling bells, I’m feeling the pressure to begin our own quests for thoughtful gifts for loved ones. The season from now until the end of the year is a marathon of preparations, feasts, and family activities as the holidays follow each other in close succession. It’s delightful. But it can also be stressful.

It’s such a shame, really, that a season that should be filled with joy and warmth can be tainted by stress and busyness. It’s a shame that it’s all too easy to lose sight of the invitation to give thanks, to remember the coming of Christ to our world, to reflect on the past year. So as our toes are just beginning to dip into this season, I’ve been thinking about what within my heart, mind, and schedule can be altered to reduce that stress and focus on the right things.

In this timely season, I’ve been reading Richella Parham’s new book Mythical Me: Finding Freedom from Constant Comparison. One phrase has especially stuck with me as I’ve thought about the holiday season (and hospitality as a whole). The words struck a nerve as I read them and are now copied on a notecard and taped in my kitchen. They summarize a lesson I’ve been in the process of learning and relearning for years: You were made to bless, not to impress.

You see, some of the holiday craze is related to overloaded schedules and overcommitment, but some of it has to do with my heart. What if all of my actions were motivated by a desire to “bless and not impress”? What if I can shake off the motivation of comparing myself? Or the nagging thought of other people doing that comparison for me?

I clean my house, yes, and make it a warm and welcoming place, but not because of a concern of what people will think but rather as a means to bless them. I take time to thoughtfully select and purchase gifts, yes, as a means of blessing and (hopefully) delight, but I let go of the fears of projected judgments of what they’ll think of me, the gift-giver. I make food—my jobs during the holidays are cinnamon rolls (for Christmas morning) and apple pies (as much as possible)—but instead of worrying about whether it’s award-winning, I’m focused on the fruits of my oven as a means of sharing with those I love. Do you see the difference?

I know that not all of you are like this (at least I hope not), but also I know that so many of us can fall into the comparison trap. We spend so much time worrying about what other people think of us, worried if we’ll measure up. This anxiety is fueled by an unrealistic projection of what “perfection” might be (and an assumption that everyone else is holding us to that standard and a fear that if they see we fall short they’ll somehow love or value us less). In my experience, this adds fuel to my stress, not because it puts more on my plate (though sometimes it does) but because it adds mental and emotional pressure to the things already on my plate. It’s a vicious cycle. And it’s rooted in far too much navel-gazing.

So, as we enter this season of the year, a season in which there are so many opportunities to be a blessing—through giving, through feeding, through hosting family and friends—let this be the attitude of all of our hearts: You were made to bless, not to impress. And may we all find freedom in this truth.

I’d recommend Richella’s book, Mythical Me, to any of you who struggle with comparison. I found it to be encouraging—and she offers some practical steps to take to break free from it. You can find it wherever books are sold.

I can’t say I’ve ever been a big shopper. I’m the friend who’s ready long before everyone else, aisles perused, selections tried on, decisions made, waiting outside of the dressing room while everyone else finishes up. This efficiency has only grown now that I have a tiny companion. She grows restless strapped to my chest or nestled in the cart in front of me. I keep moving, make my selections decisively, and go through the self-checkout when the lines are long.

On this particular day, we braved one of those big box stores in which I could get everything on my list in one stop. Groceries, toiletries, and a few items for our new living situation were piled in the cart out of reach of my daughter’s curious hands as I briskly walked to the front of the store. In the corral of self-scanning stations, I overheard a customer teasing the clerk on duty. She paused her roving amongst the beeping scanners and rustle of plastic bags to return his sarcasm with some of her own. The twinkle in her eye told me they knew each other. This wasn’t the first time they’d had such an exchange. He left, purchases in hand, with a final quip, and she continued her rounds. Her back bore the gentle arc of age. She was petite, like my grandmother, with a light in her eyes like my memories of her.

She waved a wrinkled hand at the man’s disappearing back. “They’re so mean to me.”

For a moment, I thought I’d misread the situation. Then she laughed, “Aww no, they’re great. They’re just great. I’ve known them for years down at the Elks Club.”

I was quickly sliding along barcodes. The baby was squirming, reminding me that it was naptime. I listened with partial attention, trying not to be rude, but unsure if she was actually talking to me or just to the air. I glanced over my shoulder as I placed plastic tubs of baby food in the bag. She looked me in the eye and kept talking.

“You know, I’ll be eighty-six years old this year, and I try to find something to laugh about every day. Yeah, I know hard things happen in life and things don’t always go like we want, and some people think that gives them the right to grumble and be all miserable and nasty. But I’m old, and I know life is too short to live like that. I just brush those things off and don’t think about them and find something to laugh about instead. When I die, I’m going to do it with a smile on my face.”

With her final statement, she gave an emphatic nod and what I now surmised to be her characteristic grin. I couldn’t help but smile back at her, and I left the store that day still wearing that smile as I walked to my car. Her outlook on life was contagious. But on the way home, I started wondering if I could live like that all the time.

* * *

It is not difficult to see that life can be hard. We face the effects of its broken, not-yet-fully redeemed state every day. The newsreels remind us of conflicts, poverty, and injustice on a global scale. We see it in our own lives in sickness and ailing bodies, in severed relationships and the loss of those we love. Violence, want, and the delay of justice aren’t contained in one part of the globe or a particular neighborhood. They come knocking at our doors as well in myriad forms. Who among us can escape suffering and tears?

I do not believe faithfulness to Christ or a firm grasp on joy demand that we ignore this reality of the pain our existence can bring. We need look no further in the Bible than the Psalms of lament or a book such as Lamentations to see that we are given permission to mourn and to rail against the ways life is not as it should be. We do not need to simply brush our pain aside, to ignore it, to laugh it off. We can sit with our grief, rage, and tears and call it what it is. In fact, we are given permission to bring that grief and rage and those tears in astonishing honesty and rawness to God himself. Repression is not a sanctified action.

And yet. (There is always an “and yet,” isn’t there?) And yet, even in these places in the Bible that give voice to our deepest pain and longings, there is a space held open for rejoicing. This joy does not come because we ignore the parts of life that are hard. It comes because our faith gives us comfort in the midst of a life that is hard. We have hope that is anchored in who God is and in what He has promised. As I heard someone say recently, “I read the end of the book, and that’s why I can keep smiling.”

My store clerk was right—there is no space for grumbling and misery in the face of life’s difficulties. She was right that there is always space for joy. But that joy doesn’t come from blinding ourselves to the world’s ills or numbing our hearts against the painful situations that may come our way. Joy comes from a deep-seated belief that God is who He says He is and He will do what He said He will do. Faith allows us to stare down the hard parts of life while joy still takes root in our souls. This joy is realistic but irrepressible. It is joy that can survive in the dark. It is joy that allows us to die with a smile on our face.

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