The house is quiet. The baby is sleeping. My husband is gone.

Just like yesterday and the day before that and pretty much every day since we moved to North Carolina.

Now the baby is awake and instead of eating he’s squirming and trying to climb on the keyboard and finding all sorts of ways to cause enormous amounts of pain with his tiny razor blade fingernails. I’m trying to teach him sign language because he doesn’t have words and he’s more interested in staring out the window. The floors have been swept twice already. My clothes are covered in three different bodily fluids. The baby still won’t eat.

Why does this feel so familiar? Didn’t this happen yesterday too? I don’t entirely remember yesterday–the days start to blur together after you’ve lived the same one 238 times.

I wish my husband would come home. But he’s not coming home tonight. He won’t be home for a few nights because the military had other ideas for him, so instead he’s packed onto a bus driving to a different state to do something secret he probably won’t be able to tell me much about when he gets home. I can’t even go out because he had to take the car to work and with no warning they told him he wouldn’t be allowed to come back and drop it off.

I’m pretty sure that’s the fourth time I’ve wiped spit up off the kitchen floor today. Speaking of the kitchen, I should probably make dinner, but why should I bother when I’m the only one around to eat it? Cooking for one when you should be cooking for two is hardly exciting. My son is licking glitter off the floor. I should probably sweep a third time.

Christmas isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s supposed to feel cold and there should be sledding and Christmas tree lighting and joy.

Joy.

I’m running to the kitchen to grab more napkins to clean more spit up. There is nothing joyful about spit up.

Every day is the same–the baby screams, Daddy leaves for work, the military dictates every aspect of the day, somehow the kitchen floor is dirty again even though it was just cleaned seventeen minutes ago. This constant go go go every single day to accomplish nothing but sameness–that is not what Christmas is supposed to be about. Where did all the Christmas spirit go?

How do we find joy in a life that is so mundane? 

There’s only one place we can find the joy our hearts so crave. Only one place we can break out of the sameness while still living the same day every day. Everything written above is true–I’m covered in so much bodily fluid it’s ridiculous and my husband isn’t coming home tonight because the military told him no and we do what they say. Tomorrow is going to be the exact same day and so is the day after that.

Christmas changes everything, and it’s not because the lights are pretty and giving gifts fills our hearts with gladness. It’s not about Christmas spirit or sledding and as magical as it is to walk through the snow seeing Christmas trees in windows and beautiful light displays it’s not about that either.

Christmas changes everything because we were dead inside. We were cold and hungry for light and truth and redemption because our mundane lives of sameness were dragging us down until we were drowning in monotony and dull souls and then Christ. 

Jesus Christ was born on Christmas and we were dead until he came to life and I am still covered in spit up but what does it matter? Many don’t want anything to do with the God of the Old Testament because He showed His wrath and these days you can’t get angry or have convictions without being a bigot. God is not a bigot. He is just and He is right and He set the standards.

But His justice meant a wicked world was punished. A wicked people. Us.

Christmas changes everything because Christ was born and then he died and the price for the wickedness of the people was paid–the ultimate justice. Those who accept this sacrifice are saved and no longer dead inside and that changes everything. I am that person. My husband is that person. My parents are those people and I pray that one day my son will be that person too. Joy is not based on our circumstances, it is based on Christ. Joy does not mean the kitchen floors will stay clean and it does not mean my husband will come home. Joy can feel sad but joy is always hope. 

My life will be just as mundane tomorrow as it was today–there will be no sledding or Christmas tree lightings for me, and the military still controls our family. But I’m okay with the spit up because it means my baby boy has food in his tummy. There is only glitter on the floor because we have beautiful Christmas ornaments on our tree. My husband is gone to work in a job where he fights for my freedom to share where joy comes from. I have a floor under my feet to sweep.

Christmas changes everything. Christmas brought Christ to us. His life is why I have joy. 

Being at home all the time is not exciting. Working at a desk is not exciting. Trudging from class to class is not exciting. Spending the majority of the Christmas season without my husband is not exciting. Where did all the Christmas spirit go?

It’s still out there; I promise.

And do you know what else is out there?

Christ. Hope. Truly living life regardless of the sameness.

Joy.