Not the good kind. Not the kind wrapped with love, placed with anticipation under the tree.
The lousy kind.
The guy at the drugstore hesitated halfway through his "have a good day," seeming to realize that the woman buying lice treatment at 6am was not likely going to have a good day.
Well ... it wasn't all good. Nope, it was a lot of work and I'm sore and tired and my fingers are raw from the scalding. But when I was tucking Sam into bed, he was so tired he didn't even notice, but he prayed that we would love God with all our hearts and moles and signs and strength. Moles and signs! I felt like that was my day. Good things, like moles tunneling sly alongside without me noticing, and like signs, pointing my attention upward.
The kids were well-behaved all day; through four hours of hair treatment and combing and scrubbing, through a constant laundry marathon, through the most thorough vacuuming their rooms have ever had. (Apparently there's nothing like a creepy crawly feeling to motivate me into cleaning every crack and crevice. NOT that I want a repeat motivation ... but it does feel great to have so much housework done.)
I finally hung up my painting, despite not being satisfied with it, to get it up and out of the way so I could concentrate on bigger - well, smaller - things. That satisfying click when it slipped onto the hook felt like a tiny cry of victory, and it tilted my heart joyward.
Kachi saw me crying over our lice-olation and asked "I hold you? I kiss you, mama?" Ohh that tender-hearted boy is no small comfort.
And Sam and Vava and Patrick and I all finally have new haircuts. Not the prettiest, maybe, but new, nonetheless ;).
I hope your gifts are all bright and beautiful, friends ... but if they aren't, I pray that you will find something good and fresh hidden alongside, to redeem your heart from despair and to point you to hope.
And may you love the Lord with all your hearts and moles and signs and strength ;).
Merry Christmas, friends.