Page 40 of We Wish You a Messy Christmas

Their Christmas Eve celebration was unlike anything Jane had ever experienced. And all things considered, she felt she’d held it together fairly well. She never lost her temper once. Sure, her smile felt forced at times as she tried to overlook all the disarray and chaos filling her home. She feigned amusement as the grown-ups played charades and the children squealed as they chased each other through the house. She just looked away when food and drink got spilled and carelessly wiped up. And she even sang along when people began to sing carols.

Okay, she bristled as she watched Erik literally throw a bulky log onto the fire in her previously pristine fireplace. Of course, the hearth was now a mess of soot and ash and wood debris. She even tried to look pleased when she observed Olivia and Malcolm setting up a roughly carved nativity set on her marble-top table. Scooting all her graceful Lladró figurines to stand behind their homespun display, the two joked that the fancy angels could watch over the little nativity scene.

Jane had even looked away when she’d spied Malcolm and Olivia exchanging kisses, rationalizing that of course they would kiss while standing under the ball of mistletoe someone had hung from her foyer chandelier. Even though all her maternal instincts warned her that their relationship was getting serious, that she might very well become related to the McEntires by marriage, she wanted to pretend it was just a neighborly kiss. But she couldn’t deny it anymore when she noticed the couple holding hands, gazing at each other with a look that revealed they had moved well beyond just friendly neighbors.

It was in that moment that she knew this was too much. She had tried her best, but she couldn’t take another minute of all these festivities. She had reached her boiling point, and she knew she was too tired to control her emotions. The best she could do was make her excuses and apologies. She blamed her aching hip for her early departure, which was partly true, then wheeled herself into the sanctuary of her bedroom.

She closed and locked the door behind her, which only kept out a portion of the noise out there, but still afforded her the privacy she needed to cry. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she act and react like other people? Was she just so broken that there was no fixing her? She tried to remember the little sermon Rob had given earlier. His words had rung true then. But now it was hard to wrap her head around it. Oh, she could understand the shock Jesus must’ve felt in coming to a really messy world. She could relate. But he hadn’t seemed to mind the mess. He just wanted to be with those messy people, to help those messy people, and, she thought, to perhaps help them clean up their messes.

“I am a mess,” she quietly confessed to God as she pulled off her wig. She could only imagine how horrible her short blue hair must look right now, but that wasn’t the mess she was referring to. “I need help to clean it up, Lord. Divine help.” She set the wig on the makeshift stand Cindy had made for her and pulled out a tissue to wipe her running nose. With tears still pouring down her cheeks, she rolled over to her closet, thinking she would attempt to pull off her dress and get ready for bed. Normally Olivia would help her to do this chore, but Jane knew her daughter was preoccupied tonight.

As she sobbed and tugged on the dress, she finally got her head and one arm out but was trapped in the rest of it. Trying to figure a way to remove the dress without standing since her hip was really aching, she caught a glimpse of her image in the full-length mirror on her closet door. Staring at the awkward and slightly shocking image, she realized that she really did look like a mess. A perfect mess.

At first, she gaped at herself in horror, and then realized she looked absolutely, comically, ridiculous. Blue hair sticking out in all directions, red-rimmed eyes, dripping nose, stuck half in and half out of a dress, her underwear exposed and all her wrinkles accentuated by the overhead light. And suddenly, she began to giggle. And then to laugh . . . uncontrollably. And then someone knocked on the bedroom door.

“Mom?” It was Olivia. “May I come in?”

Trying to regain some composure, which was impossible considering everything, Jane wheeled herself over to unlock the door, positioning herself behind it as she opened it a small crack.

“Are you alone?” Jane asked, still suppressing giggles.

“Yes. Do you need help?”

“Do I ever!” She rolled back far enough for Olivia to enter.

“Oh, Mom.” Olivia’s eyes grew wide. “Are you okay?”

“Well, it depends on how you define okay.” Jane held up her hands hopelessly. “I’m stuck in this dress, I look perfectly ridiculous, I’m basically a great big mess. But I think I’m okay.” She started to giggle.

Olivia bent down to hug her mother. “I’m sorry. I should’ve come in sooner. But I thought you might’ve wanted to be alone.”

“I thought so too.” Jane tried to cooperate as Olivia helped remove her dress. “I used to pride myself on being so independent and self-sufficient. I think God has been trying to teach me that I need people. Not just for getting dressed, but for living life.”

“That makes sense.”

Jane looked up at her daughter. “I really am trying to get over my perfectionist ways, Olivia, but it’s so hard.”

“Well, you just said God was showing you that you need people. Maybe you’re ready to consider seeing the therapist Pastor Justin mentioned.”

Jane nodded. “I think you’re right.”

Both of them remained quiet as Olivia helped Jane prepare for bed. The ebb and flow of noise from the party still going on out there continued, but it seemed to be a little more subdued, like perhaps they were getting ready to call it a night. Jane thought it was well past the children’s bedtimes, but she didn’t want to mention it. And then they all began to sing “Silent Night.” Jane felt her eyes grow misty.

“Isn’t that beautiful,” she whispered to Olivia.

Olivia nodded and they both just listened until the song ended, and then, as Olivia helped Jane into bed, it sounded as if people were starting to say their goodbyes and making their departures.

“I was really proud of you tonight,” Olivia said as she pulled the comforter up.

“Well, part of it was just a big act.”

“That’s okay, Mom. Sometimes that’s the best we can do. And you know what they say, fake it ’til you make it.”

Jane forced a smile. “I’ll try to remember that.”

“Mom . . .” Olivia sat in the wheelchair next to the bed. “I want to tell you something . . . and I hope it won’t upset you.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “About you and Malcolm?”