Opinion | Family

Lynne Hybels: My Lazy Christmas Wish

At 29, 39, and 49, I couldn't imagine an unhurried holiday season. At 59, I have realized that very little matters.

It's 4 on a Thursday morning. I'm wide awake because my 4-year-old grandson, Henry—enjoying a "sleepover" with Nana while Mom and Dad are out of town—woke up at 3 with a sore throat. After a trip to the potty and a few sips of juice, he has drifted back to sleep. If he wakes up cured in the morning, he can go to preschool, as planned, then enjoy his afternoon play date with cousin Mikayla. My day, too, will go as planned. But if Henry's middle-of-the-night sore throat greets the morning, the day's priority will immediately shift: together we willl snuggle up under a fuzzy blanket and watch The Velveteen Rabbit—again. My morning meeting will be cancelled, and I'll have to bow out of the fancy-schmancy luncheon I've been invited to.

No big deal.

At age 29, 39, or even 49, I might have been undone by a last-minute change of plans. Especially in December. The crazy month. The season of peace and joy during which I have often been frustrated and miserable.

But not this year. ...

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