By: Jen Brooks
I’ll never forget the Christmas when my husband, our three young children, and I all had the stomach flu.
This wasn’t the sniffly kind of sick you treat with hot tea. This virus flattened us on the couch, left us pale as snow, and had us groaning with every movement.
Instead of perfectly curated plates of cookies and a beautifully decorated table filled with hors d’oeuvres, we had cups of Gatorade lined up on the counter and saltine crackers on paper plates.
There were no visions of sugarplums dancing in our heads, just the desperate hope that no one else would have to sprint down the hallway in the middle of the night!
No Christmas lights twinkled. Who had the energy to crawl off the couch and flip the switch? No carols filled the air. No one could visit relatives or have cozy gatherings by the fire.
Not the Christmas I Planned
This was not the Christmas I had planned.
I will admit, I was sulking.
As we all lay on the couches in our pitiful state, I picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels. That is when I landed on the beginning of A Charlie Brown Christmas. My heart perked up just a little. Watching that cartoon was always a highlight of my childhood Christmases.
“Maybe this could redeem at least one part of the day,” I thought.
Instead of just cheering me up, however, it provided the perspective shift I desperately needed...
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