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Picture it like scenes from an Italian restaurant, only it’s not a restaurant, and we’re not Italian.  Instead, here’s a scene from the Angehr home, stardate 11/29/25, high noon.

It’s the Saturday after Thanksgiving, which means, canonically speaking, it’s the day that my family Decorates the House for Christmas.  We’ve never been big exterior decorators, but we try to give our inside the old college try: lots of tinsels, holiday chotzsky’s, a nativity set, pinecones, candles, and a stockinged leg lamp.  And the Christmas tree itself!  Our tree looks remarkably similar from year to year, primarily because it’s plastic.  (Emily has an allergy to evergreens, and I have an allergy to unnecessary work.)

But there we were––Em, me, and all four of our kids.  The opening strains of The Messiah kicked off our decorating frenzy, and within an hour we had everything up and ready for Santa.

(Just kidding about the stockinged leg lamp, btw.)

If all of this sounds wonderfully idyllic to you, and I’m sure that at some level it definitely is, let me assure you that it’s typical for me on this day to have to exercise all of my dad muscles in order to keep the decoration train from careening off the tracks.  The only problem with our Christmas decorating is that my kids don’t like Christmas decorating, a phobia that proves consistently problematic on Saturdays after Thanksgiving.  Overheard carps from kids at Casa Angehr during these periods might include, “Why do ALL of us have to be here?,” “Can I go back to my ROOM now?,” “[Other child] isn’t doing ANYTHING, and I’m doing ALL the work!,” “The Messiah is OLD and BORING!,” “Where are MY Christmas ornaments?,” “Why do OTHER families have better decorations/a real tree/etc?”  So begins the most wonderful time of the year!

Except this year, and in a good way.  It was only on Saturday evening before bed that I realized and remarked to Emily, “Hey, there weren’t any arguments about decorating this year!  All of the kids seemed happy enough to be there and help.  Decorating was actually fun and easy!”  The angels were singing.

All of which got me to thinking.  Normally around this time of year I’ll opine during a sermon (or a blog post) that most often, Advent (a.k.a. December, a.k.a. the liturgical season in which the church waits anew for the arrival––the “advent”––of Jesus into our world) is a time when we take stock of loss.  Whenever we come back around to Christmastime, we’ll note what’s missing, what’s worse.  Who’s missing?, for example.  And lots of things are worse, like worse family stuff, worse friend stuff, worse job stuff, worse health stuff, worse money stuff, and worse world stuff.

There’s no way around the fact that in December of 2025, such losses have once again accrued.  Please know that there is space for you, and for your laments in Advent; after all, it’s a reflective season for waiting––which itself is an acknowledgement that all things are not yet whole and full.

Nevertheless, that’s not all Advent is.  Sometimes, and some years, and even in small ways, you might find that as you come back to December, things are at least in part a little bit better.  Something new and good afoot, something like a family decorating session that doesn’t end in opprobria.    

Please don’t get me wrong at the same time.  If your life is hard right now for any number of reasons, I don’t intend at all to belittle those things, or to punch down.  Still, I would encourage you in the midst of your Advent laments to look for flickers that indicate that something’s improved, or that something good and new has arrived.  They’re there for you to see, and for which you can give thanks to the Lord.

New things and better things, you see, are a crucial part of the Advent story.  It’s this Jesus who’s come into the world and tells us, “Behold, I am making all things new” (Rev 21:5).  Because into the mire of our cold, sad, dark world, God has done something new in Jesus.  

Look for it.  

Wait for it.

Wait for Him.

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