This time of year crackles with anticipation, like logs tossed into the fireplace. While the season glows with warmth and hope, it can also feel heavy with unmet expectations.

“It has been too long!” we said, waving to each other’s pixelated video screens as we started to talk over each other, eager to reconnect. Through the miracle of modern Internet, we caught up on work woes, family foibles, and everything else we could squeeze into our hour-long chat. 

“Okay, so tell me, really, how are you?” I asked her, washing down my supplements with a soda because, honestly, that was how I was doing.

My friend was talking from a parking lot, where she had squirreled away time in her car. She leaned into the screen.

“Well, I cried before our family photos, if that gives you any indication,” she offered, amusement and exhaustion in her voice.

I replied with a knowing laugh.

“It’s not family pictures unless someone cries.”

She smiled, but we understood the deeper truth hiding in our shared humor. This season — touted as the most wonderful time of the year — often comes with heaps of expectations. And sometimes a few tears.

‘Tis the season of Christmas cards and end-of-year recaps. (A tradition I adore, by the way.) In our digital world, I delight in sending and receiving tangible reminders that we are connected and cared for. I love reflecting on the year as I add handwritten notes to envelopes and little flourishes to each card I address. It’s a festive practice that brings me almost as much joy as stuffing an excessive amount of mini marshmallows into my cocoa.

But here’s the thing: No one sees the tears behind the shiny, put-together photographs.

We share our vacations, milestones, and biggest wins from the year. And there’s nothing wrong with sharing the good in our lives — joy worth celebrating! But our winning write-ups don’t include the sleepless nights, the dreams we had to let go of, or the hurts hidden inside our weary hearts.

When another glossy photo lands in my mailbox, it’s easy to assume the sender’s life is as perfect as the card itself. It’s easy to get trapped in a snowbank of comparison, believing I’m the only one sitting in the gap between how I wish things were and how they are.

As I hang our Christmas cards on our door frame, I’m not immune to envy and jealousy that stick to me like the tape I use to hang the cards. But I have to remind myself that our lives are more than a few curated highlights.

Recently, two friends told me about amazing overseas vacations. “You must have had an incredible time!” I said, but I was really thinking, It must be nice to travel like that. Both confided that their trips weren’t quite as perfect as the pictures made them look. From the outside, you couldn’t see the arguing spouses or the son stuck in the hotel room with food poisoning.

The truth is, this sparkling season has a shadow side. Sorrow, comparison, and exhaustion often linger at the edges of our joy, casting darkness over the twinkle lights that frame the windows.

For many of us, Advent carries a weight, like your snow-soaked mittens do after a snowball fight — heavy and cold and clinging no matter how hard you try to shake them off. Maybe your heart weighs heavy with the loss of a loved one, strained relationships, or unmet expectations.

If you’re scrolling your social media this holiday season and feel the pangs of comparison, you’re not alone. I’ve been taking a break from the glow of instant photos and the steady stream of updates. It’s been freeing — not striving to share the perfect post but living into each moment God has brought me into.

This pause has reminded me that life doesn’t need to be staged to be sacred.

Advent is a counter-narrative to perfectionism. Year after year, we set aside time to anticipate when Love came down, entered our mess, and changed the world forever. When we remember this is our truest reality, we can open our waiting hearts to welcome a God who enters into the imperfections of our real lives. We can loosen our grip on the pressure we feel about putting on a polished show.

Jesus wasn’t born in a spotless palace. He arrived in the mess of a manger. His arrival reminds us that our lives don’t have to be picture-perfect for Him to meet us there.

What if this Advent we prepared room in our hearts for the glory of presence instead of the empty chase of perfection? What if we stopped striving to make everything just right and instead allowed ourselves to rest in the hope that’s already here?

While we often feel the need to have the stockings hung and the cookies baked, Advent invites us to hang up our hustling and kick our feet up by the fire. It’s a time of waiting for Christ to come into the messiness of our lives, just as He did so many years ago.

No year-end highlights were written on papyrus or birth announcements sealed with a kiss from Mary and Joseph. Yet the glory of God broke through heaven and earth in a miracle that changed the world forever.

This is the hope of Advent: Immanuel — God with us. Right here. Right now. In our real, uncurated, unstaged lives.

The pursuit of a perfect life will always leave us longing for more. No matter what’s printed on a Christmas card or posted on social media, you only see a glimmer of real life. We all carry unseen hurts and tender disappointments, stories that rarely make it into what we share with others.

But here’s the good news: The best story — the truest story — reminds us that the Maker of Heaven and Earth bent time to be near us, to dwell with us, to bring light into the dark corners of our lives. Jesus is the message from our God, who doesn’t require perfection but longs to meet us in the mess. The miracle of Advent invites us to let go of striving and be held by the One who catches every tear, knows every imperfect part we try to hide, and calls us beloved.

What would it look like for you to rest in this truth? To dwell in the presence of the One who was born into chaos yet chose to stay in perfect love? What would it mean to notice soft snowflakes dancing under a streetlamp, to truly see the people and places before you, to accept your imperfect life as the sacred gift it was always meant to be?

As you place stamps on envelopes and wait for your mail carrier to deliver holiday cheer, may you find peace, not in polished perfection, but in the presence of the One who came to light your way and bring hope to the world.

 

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