elf watch 2023
choosing joy and relearning how to receive love
Friends, we have an elf problem.
Let me set the stage: sometime last week I went out onto our front porch and almost fell over a package. Tis the season for brown paper packages to be dropped on our doorstep by a guy wearing a blue vest, but this was not one such package. Oh no dear reader, this was a striped box with a glittery red bow that was half opened with items placed thoughtfully on white tissue paper. Now, our realtor, Chase, has been known to drop gifts by from time to time as a way to thank us for referring business his way, so we assumed it was him and planned to thank him via text.
The next day, we looked out our big picture window to see Chase walking up our sidewalk with a giant crocheted blanket under his arm. He had swung by to drop off his Christmas thank you gift which we gratefully (albeit confusedly? Is this even a word?) accepted, but then asked him about the box.
“This blanket is lovely, but did you mean to give us two things? We got your box yesterday.”
“What box?”
The box had not come from Chase.
And so, a mystery had begun to unravel.
Later that day a basket appeared on the front stoop addressed to Sam from none other than the Muffin Man. Now reader, I will have you know that there is no Drury Lane in the greater Spokane area (I checked) and this basket was full of ingredients, measured out ahead of time, and a recipe card to make cranberry orange muffins, so there’s no way the Muffin Man could have dropped this basket on our door.
We officially had a mystery and what’s more, what have elves.
This has continued to happen. One night it was a book about trains and a small toy train for Sam. Another night a box of crafting and coloring doodads for the whole family. A poinsettia and animal crackers show up one sunny afternoon. A bottle of whiskey and printed off drinking games on another evening. A fresh baked Crumble cookie was delivered and I ran to the door in just enough time to see that particular elf sprint down our sidewalk and dive into a minivan as it screeched away. It was a real Mission Impossible moment and that elf deserves an Academy award.
As much as I would love to continue this mystery for all you True Crime junkies out there, I can’t, because if you’ve read even half of an Agatha Christie novel, you know that this is no real mystery. Heck, if you’ve read any of my other Substack articles you’ve probably figured out my elf problem and what these elves are actually attempting to do.
I am not as well acquainted with joy as I used to be. I fully believe this is a season, but when you’re sitting in a pit it’s hard to see anything except the pit itself. I desperately want to be the friend who doesn’t bring the heavy baggage she’s lugging everywhere, but right now I am, and the “how are you?” question is harder and harder for me to answer in a way that doesn’t make everyone uncomfortable. What’s harder still is receiving pity in return for my answers. People mean well, they always mean well, but the “be warm and filled” answers I have received have felt more like throwing prayers into the pit. Nice, thank you, but do you have a ladder and would you stay a while? No? Ok, I understand. Having people willing to love you when you’re a mess is rare.
Enter the elves.
At this point in the story, I’ve caught a few of the elves in the act (though they are getting craftier and I applaud their efforts). They always deny their participation in these insane reindeer games, but then I use my Hanibal voice and they usually acquiesce. These are elves we have stood next to Sunday after Sunday. Elves that have children in the nursery with our Sam. Elves that have wrapped us in prayer, served us Eucharist, and that we have laughed with over a potluck meal. We’ve danced in circles with these elves, had pizza with them, and attended their birthday parties. We’re new here, but these are elves who folded us into their lives from the moment we arrived.
When we moved to Spokane, the church we started attending wrapped us in an embrace so warm that I have actually started to question it. Why would people randomly drop gifts off on our door? Are we really that pathetic? Are they doing this for anyone else? Or, do they see us for who we really are? Is this just the “Christian agenda”, or is this love being acted out in the silliest, sweetest, sneakiest way possible?
Is that joy I’m feeling? Even from the pit?
It’s not lost on me that the shortest day of the year corresponded to the week of joy in advent. We lit our pink candle this week and on Thursday watched as the sun set around 3:30pm. Even with every light on in the house, we needed that pink candle. I can’t say that my family needed the goodies that have been dropped on our porch, but we absolutely need the elves that dropped them off. They have reminded us of God’s goodness even when it’s dark at 4pm.
Not everyone can sit in the pit that we’re in, and we wouldn’t want them to, but this week, we had friends stand around the edge of it and shine a light on us. I am so thankful to know that there are people wanting to remind us how to laugh when we thought we had forgotten. Their love is a tangible one. One that says “teach me how to love you”. One that wants to do life with us even if we're not as flexible or as available as we’d like to be. One that surprises us with love so that we can be surprised by joy.
And to the elves I haven’t caught–I will find you and I will be writing you a very aggressive thank you card.
Always,
Emily
P.S. If these elves were a little smarter, they’d drop off consumables and then not run off so quickly. We’d share them with you in a heartbeat. Just saying ;)