Christmas came and went in a whirlwind. It was the first Christmas where both girls could anticipate the magic and in their anticipation, expectation, and eventual joy I found so much happiness. There was nothing earth-shattering about their gifts, nothing monumental about our festivities, but in their peaceful simplicity I was gifted this unbelievable, absolute and utter joy. I like to think it was something like the exhausted and overwhelming love Mary must have felt on that dirt stable floor looking at the perfection of her Christ child. I felt his perfect love in this Christmas like none other before.
With the new year, I'm trying to hold on to that still, calm, joy. My heart is literally overflowing with the love I have for my sweet family. I have not made any formal 'resolutions' but I am sure trying my hardest to be present. That's it. Just present. In the moment. I'm learning after 30-something years that it's true what they say - my worry has no impact on the future and cannot change the past. I cannot control 99.9% of the things I worry about. The .1% that I can control, doesn't need my worry - only my action.
So if I must resolve, I resolve for peace. I resolve to feel and embrace peace. I resolve to bring peace, to be a beacon of peace. The peace that passes all understanding. The peace He was born into this world to bring and the peace left with us.
The thought of a peace that passes understanding never made sense to me until I was a parent (and I'm not sure I can say it is even capable of complete comprehension). The peace that I believe passes understanding is the calm in the storm. It's the inner faith that, as Julian of Norwich said, "All shall be well." That has become my prayer mantra these past few weeks - all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.
For example, it passes understanding to find peace when a three-year old sounds like she is literally dying of a broken heart when her Elsa jammies or Elsa dress are in the wash. There is no peace offering that will respond to the toddler's refusal to understand why she cannot wear the same damn dress every single day (a dress that, mind you, is a bit snug to begin with). As I held her yesterday and wiped away those tears, I found a measure of happiness. Happiness in knowing that one day we will laugh hard about these things. Happiness too because, as Hubby pointed out, it is clear that Bug does not know real pain or heartache and for that I am so thankful. Her world was literally shattered with the realization that she had to wear a different Elsa nightgown. I want that to be her pain for as long as I can protect her from real sadness.
It passes understanding to find peace while doing yoga with a 5-year old who has a mean case of the giggles because her little sister is snapping pictures of us in our asanas. Laying in viparita karani unable to hear anything above the chuckles isn't anyone's idea of meditation, except maybe mine now. Rather than get frustrated or quit or demand silence, I let her laughter infect me. Soon we were both more peaceful and happier than a thousand deep restorative breaths.
Watching seemingly a million impromptu dance performances a day, negotiating daily on bathtimes and bedtimes and kid shows, counting bites, checking tooth and hair brush jobs and homework folders and, of course, washing those damn Elsa dresses are the things that right now, are making my heart full to bursting. And I know the feeling won't last. I know the frustration of life will creep back in, particularly now that we are back in a routine from the holidays. But I hope that I can keep some of that magic alive year round just by stopping and being, present, alive, and at peace with where I am in the moment.
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