I dropped into my chair at the head of the table with a barely suppressed sigh of relief. The candlelight shone on the faces of beloved friends and behind me a merry blaze snapped and crackled in the fireplace. The food was hot and savory; the flowers were mounded enough to be noticed and low enough for conversation, and from the kitchen wafted the light strains mellow jazz, complementing but not competing with the conviviality in the room. Everything had come together in one of those momentary mirages of perfection. The only trouble was that I just wanted to fall into bed.  All day I had worn myself out over trifles, things no one would see or notice, and now that my friends had finally arrived I was too tired to enjoy them.

Perfectionism is an insidious foe, especially during the holidays, when we’re inundated on every side with images of unattainable excellence. Social media feeds us snippets and squares of strangers’ lives which have often been carefully curated to edit out the imperfections of real life. We feel our lack, howsoever subtly, turning from our screens with a critical eye toward our own imperfect lives, resolving to make them look more like this or that influencer’s. Comparison culture has been linked to feelings of inadequacy, low self-esteem, depression, and anxiety. It can cause us to set an impossible standard for ourselves before inviting people into our lives, or, worse yet, cause us to withdraw in an attempt to shield our messy, ordinary lives from view. Yet comparison is so prevalent in our society, we scarcely realize how it’s affecting us. Theodore Roosevelt famously said that comparison is the thief of joy. But it’s also the thief of hospitality and human connection, not to mention any semblance of a meaningful holiday. And if we’re serious about engaging with what matters most this time of year, we’re going to have to recognize the role of comparison and call out perfectionism for the enemy that it is.

One of the ways I have learned to do this is to rely on a mantra to keep me tethered to what is true. “Perfect imperfection” is one I like to roll around, particularly when I start feeling tempted to overextend myself in preparations for Christmas. What I mean by that is that it’s the very fallibility of life that makes it life, and that anything that connects us to our humanness and that of others is not only good, but essential. Myquillin Smith, the home décor guru and founder of the “cozy minimalist” movement, says that “imperfections set people at ease,” and I have found this to be absolutely true, both in my experience as host and as guest. Perfection—even the appearance of it—can be threatening, off-putting, inhospitable. But if we really want to connect with people and make lasting holiday memories, we will embrace the fact that it’s the very imperfections that make it memorable.

My mother once spent Christmas Eve basting and slow roasting a goose my dad had brought back from a hunting expedition in Canada. The aromas were intoxicating as she opened the oven again and again throughout the day to drizzle another layer of apricot-laced pan drippings, and by suppertime my brother and sister and I were fairly ravenous. We gathered around as Daddy carved the bird, like a modern rendering of the Cratchit family, anticipating the first bite as he said the blessing. At Mama’s first bite, however, she twisted her mouth and knit her brows. Then, before any of us had a chance to raise so much as a forkful, she swept our plates into the kitchen and scraped them into the trash. The goose, it seemed, was full of lead shot. I honestly don’t remember what Mama served us for dinner that night in its place—probably fish sticks or canned ravioli. What I do remember, however, is her humor in relation to the thing, and how we have laughed about it over the years. That story has been canonized in my family history as evidence that the details don’t matter as much as the gift of simply being together.

Another thing that helps is to decide ahead of time what we want to give our time to. If we love to deck the halls and have people over, then let’s keep our menus relatively simple. If, on the other hand, your idea of love is to spread a four-course feast, or simply set a beautiful table for a family meal, it’s all right to scale back your decorations in other parts of the house, if need be. Give yourself permission to give lavishly in the ways you feel most called and equipped. But also give yourself permission to take a pass on the things that drain you of energy and joy.

Finally, and most importantly, invite God into your plans. We serve a Savior who is intimately acquainted with the details of our lives, and who wants to commune with us in the very midst of our calendars and to-do lists. Do not be afraid to ask for wisdom in matters great small pertaining to this holiday. As God-with-us, Jesus has entered into the minutia of our lives, dignifying even the lowliest things with his presence. He never asks us to pursue perfection in our own strength, but to rest in his unfailing, unconditional love and to extend that love to others. It is from this resting place alone that we can embrace the perfectly imperfect gift of this holiday season.

BIO:

Lanier Ivester is a homemaker and writer in the beautiful state of Georgia, where she maintains a small farm with her husband, Philip, and an ever-expanding menagerie of animals. She studied English Literature at the University of Oxford. For over a decade she has kept a web journal at lanierivester.com, and her work has also been featured on Southern Living, The Gospel Coalition, and The Cultivating Project, among others. Her latest book is Glad & Golden Hours: A Companion for Advent and Christmastide (Rabbit Room Press, November 2024).