My Life As a Rockwell

Or How to Kick Christmas Expectations to the Curb

Great expectations

It’s all Norman Rockwell’s fault.

A huge fan of his paintings, I totally blame him for my life’s expectations… unrealistic as they may be. Especially during the holidays. Who doesn’t want that Home for Christmas scene Rockwell depicts? The citizens of Stockbridge, Massachusetts strolling down Kinkade-like lit streets, effortlessly pulling perfect Christmas trees behind them. I can practically hear the occasional, “Evening, Ma’am” from the folks as they pass each other on the street.

At Thanksgiving, I dream of carrying in the porcelain platter, laden with the browned-to-perfection 26-pounder  (much like the grandmother in Rockwell’s Freedom From Want) with all the family leaning in to get a closer look at my masterpiece entrée. I am always unprepared for the cherub-cheeked children’s delightful chatter, “He hit me!” “Orange potatoes! Yuck! I hate orange potatoes!”  The little darlings.

 The wannabe Rockwell in me wistfully thinks of gleeful kids decorating their bikes for the Fourth of July parade, waving a small flag as they pass by, just like the painting in Rockwell’s - - okay, so I made that one up – Rockwell does not have a painting like that. But, he should.

Sigh.  Will our lives ever mirror these images?  I realize there’s not a candle’s chance in a snowstorm, but still I have to try. After all, if Carolyn Ingalls (of Little House on the Prairie fame) can have a happy home in the middle of North Dakota with no electricity, no plumbing, and no money --- surely I can recreate Rockwell’s Americana in my modern-day world.

So, at Christmas we will pile in the car and head for the tree lot. The perfect tree will be a tall one, reaching to the sky. When passersby stop to look in my picture window, this decorated beauty will ignite a desire for a neighborhood caroling tradition, with singer carrying big thermoses filled to the brim with hot cider to share.  This tree will kindle a regeneration in my neighbors’ spirit of love and harmony,  and capture the true meaning of Christmas….all with just a glance. 

The reality

But when we get to the tree lot, we find out quickly that the only stick with needles we can afford is the one leaning against the porta-potty with the crooked trunk and chopped off top.

I suppress a sigh and look forward to decorating our stick—er—tree together.  I envision all of us dressed in matching cardigans, occasionally teasing each other over past memories, and now and then harmonizing with Bing Crosby crooning in the background. The smell of slow-cooked hot chocolate perfumes the air. Memories will be made.

The reality is that the third time the tree falls and the last of my German-imported glass bulbs break, my husband—ever the genius—duct tapes it to the window so it won’t fall anymore. Gigantic clumps of ribbon compete for attention with the gigantic clumps of duct tape thrown on it by my creative child, who is dressed not in a cardigan but in a tank top and shorts.  (Florida—the state I live in—is a nice state, weather wise, until you’re in the need of a White Christmas with appropriate apparel.)

One morning as I sit in our church pew, I am inspired to be a witness to my neighbors. This is good—it will be just the thing a Rockwell gal would do. I decide to bake batches and batches of cookies and knock on their doors with a cheery “Jesus is the Reason” refrain.

Of course, when you must first knock on their door to borrow some baking ingredients, interrupting their dinner with out-of-town guests … it kind of loses its impact. “If you can just spare two eggs, Anne—oh, and do you have any butter? I want to surprise you with Christmas cookies!”

An important holiday business dinner awaits and I wonder how I will squeeze myself into the little(?) black party dress that is so trés chic, which purchased several years ago and which still hangs in the closet with its tag attached. I suppose I shouldn’t have sampled so many of the cookies meant for the neighbors.

This year I planned to make Martha Stewart envious with the coordinating wrapping papers I purchased last year at the after-Christmas sale. She would have been so proud—I even bought colored pinecones to attach in lieu of bows and intended to use my new calligraphy pen to inscribe the recipient’s names on homemade paper gift cards. 

The reality is, I haven’t a clue where that stuff is. I haven’t seen it since I bought it. At least, I think I bought it.

No, instead, I rush home from Christmas Eve Candlelight service and stay up until 2 in the morning armed with a permanent marker, a tape dispenser, and all the old full-color comic pages from the last couple months’ worth of newspaper deliveries. At least my gifts will be colorful, right?

The Epiphany

So just when I think Rockwell must have lived in a little Vermont bubble, cute as it was, I flip through the pages of my brain’s Rockwell resource file and find examples that were realistic, challenging, and very often hopeful, despite the situation. 

One of my favorite Rockwell works, Lift Up Thine Eyes, has those same words posted on a magnificent church’s marquee. Despite the cheery Christmas street decorations, city dwellers pass by, their shoulders stooped, heads down.

Thinking of this, I lifted up my eyes—and yes, I saw the baby food glued to the ceiling fan from many, many years ago. 

And I then realized what attracts me to Rockwell’s paintings after all, is not the idyllic life he portrays, but the fact that he celebrates the common life, and points out life’s challenges of the mundane and the extraordinary. 

Then, as if I were the Grinch--- whose heart was growing twice its normal size --- my heart also saw the unfailing mercy and grace of God who loves me so much, He sent us his Son—the reason we celebrate Christmas.

Look up!  God is real. His love, grace and Gift is a reality!  There will be a place of idyllic life—heaven. I’m just practicing ‘til then.

Questions & Suggestions: 

1)      I must often remind myself to shift my thinking away from these joy-crushing expectations.  When our expectations go awry, as they often do during the holidays, ask this question:  What is it going to cost me (and my joy) if I keep allowing myself to get disappointed that something didn’t go as planned? 

2)      Instead, focus on our thoughts and expectations to not be based on other’s actions and words, but rather, look up and be delighted in God’s precious Gift to us.