December is the time of year when faith asks me to breathe, but life asks me to hurry. 

My heart wants peace, but my calendar demands performance. Christmas doesn’t enter quietly anymore. It seems to crash into our lives with noise, color and urgency. I find myself staring down a holiday to-do list longer than a receipt at the grocery store. 

There’s the Christmas tree to trim, the wreath to hang, lights to untangle, cards to address, and gifts to buy. Traditions call out to us. I feel compelled to dust off Grandma’s handwritten recipe card and bake her timeless fruitcake cookies. Don’t leave out work deadlines, parties, family gatherings, and church events from the mix. Christmas can begin to feel less like a season and more like a sprint.

I’ll admit it, I try to outsmart December. I shop early. If I find the perfect gift in July, I will snatch it up and save it for Christmas gifting. This year, I thought I really had it figured out. I carved out four golden, glorious days off work, an almost mythical stretch of uninterrupted time. My plan was ambitious and beautiful. I would write all the Christmas cards, finish shopping, decorate the house and start wrapping gifts. 

Then, just as I headed into my “holiday headquarters,” I felt it, the scratchy tickle in my throat. You know the one.

Despite amplified doses of vitamin C and zinc, the flu showed up uninvited, like the Grinch in the night and stole my well-laid plans. 

Instead of decking the halls, I spent my four unrecoverable days off work bundled in blankets, buried in Kleenex, and surviving on soup, ginger ale and crackers. Not one card was written. 

Not one decoration was unpacked. Not one gift was wrapped. When you’re sick, you can’t hustle. You can’t pretend you’re in control. You can only be, think, pray and rest.

And, that’s when the uncomfortable truth surfaced. December is the month when I say I want to draw closer to God and also the month when my schedule makes that hardest to do. We tend to crowd December with good and meaningful things, but sometimes we pile them so high there’s no room left for the very reason we are celebrating.

I realize much of my December motivation is rooted in love for others by a desire to reach out through cards, gifting, meals and kindness. That’s all beautiful. But I also wonder, why do we cram into one month what our hearts long to do all year? 

As I lay there coughing through TV Christmas movies and trying to ignore an undecorated living room, God gently shifted my gaze. Christmas was not, in fact, in jeopardy because my tree was still in its box. Faith is not measured by wrapping paper or wreaths. Peace does not arrive in a department store. 

The miracle, the real one, still came quietly in a manger, just as it always has.

As director of our local food pantry, I observe how the winter months bring an increase in need. While many families plan feasts, others quietly fear the grocery bill. While we’re busy choosing gifts, some are choosing between medicine and groceries. 

The pantry shelves move faster in December, and the stories grow heavier. Also appearing in December is generosity which shows up in beautiful ways. Donations appear and volunteers rush in with helping hands. People remember hunger in December, and I thank God for that.

My bout with the flu forced me to slow down and in doing so, it redirected my heart. I realized how easy it is to fill December with activity and still miss Christ entirely. Jesus did not arrive in a rush. He came gently, humbly, quietly and not to a schedule, but to a stable.

When I let go of my frustration over unboxed ornaments, tree lights and unfinished plans, a bit of peace replaced the pressure I was feeling. I stopped measuring Christmas by productivity and started watching for presence.

Revising our focus with a more Christ-like perspective can lead us to see that kindness and service are not just a seasonal intention. Generosity is not simply a holiday tradition. Compassion is not meant to be stored in ornaments and unpacked once a year. It’s meant to be lived.

Perhaps the greatest gift we can give this Christmas is not something wrapped in paper, but something woven into our calendar in the form of time given, hands offered, hearts opened. Maybe simplification is the most faithful act we can make this season. We can release unrealistic expectations. We can shorten the to-do list. We can quiet the noise.

We can show up, not just for parties, but for people.

Light doesn’t need December to shine. Love doesn’t need a calendar to matter. If love fuels our journey instead of obligation, even setbacks become sacred and illness can become instruction. Stillness and silence can provide a sanctuary directing us toward the manger which holds our ultimate hope. 

The invitation remains open, not just this month, but every day of the year.

Janet Mills is the director of Cassville Pantry, located at 800 W. 10th St. in Cassville. She may be reached at [email protected] or 417-846-7871.