In Which I Share the Best and Worst of NYE 2020

This is the NYE I thought I wanted,
not the one that actually happened.

When I was a kid, we always celebrated New Year's Eve the same way. We'd invite too many friends to comfortably fit into our too-small home, and we'd play board games and eat foods that only show up during the holiday season.

A few minutes before midnight, my mom would go into the kitchen and round up all her pots, pans, and big metal spoons. Each kid would take a "noise maker," pull on our boots and coats, and go outside to bang pots and pans. We'd yell, "Happy New Year," toot our car's horn, and wait until our next door neighbors came out to toot their car horn in reply. 

(I'm not sure why pots and pans--maybe because my family couldn't afford noise makers? Maybe just a weird tradition?)

One year, however, we did something different. My childhood church decided to have a New Year's Eve service, and the plan was to "pray our way into the New Year."

I was not impressed.

As I recall, at about 11:55 pm, I whispered to my mom, "Can I go outside and toot the car horn?" 

She said no, and I vowed never to spend another New Year's Eve in church again.

And I kept that promise for at least 35 years.

...

This year, our church announced they would be having a New Year's Eve service. I recoiled. 

No way. No thank you. I'm good.

But a small part of me wanted to go. I've felt disappointed with God the past few years, and yet my faith is the one thing that has sustained me...even when it's been as tiny as a mustard seed. I want to be more faith-filled in the coming year; I want to sense God's presence more in my life.

However, my 8-year-old did not care for the idea of going to church on NYE. And I couldn't blame him, given my own history. So we invited some family friends over, intending to have an early countdown at 10 pm for the sake of the kiddos--and the adults who aren't in their 20s anymore. 

However, the adults got carried away with a board game called Telestrations. It's a hybrid between Pictionary and the classic game of telephone that you probably played as a kid. We laughed till we cried, and oh my gosh it was so fun.

Ten o'clock approached, and we didn't realize the kiddos were vigilantly watching the clock. Jack got out the pots and pans (I had recently told him about the tradition), and the kids went outside to wish the world a Happy New Year. 

I caught the tail end of their rousing celebration, and then everyone started to pack up and leave. I completely forgot about the bubbly drink chilling on the back steps, I didn't have a chance to play "Auld Lang Syne" on Alexa, and there wasn't really a countdown.

There were no "midnight" kisses, no toasts, and no photos of everyone wearing their NYE hats and tiaras. In fact, the only selfie I took of myself with one of my friends was so ugly that I won't post it. (Lighting, people, lighting. Especially when you're starting to get neck wrinkles.)

Meanwhile, other friends were having extravagant celebrations in exotic locations, they were dining in the south of France, walking on the beach, taking gorgeous selfies of their gorgeous selves, and sharing their perfect NYE celebrations on social media.

(Perceptions. I fully realize everyone smiles for Facebook, and a happy photo can hide a thousand words.)

After our friends were gone, I scolded my son for not waiting for the adults. I told him that because he had rushed to celebrate, he and his friends had missed out on music, dancing, toasts, and drinking of the non-alcoholic bubbly.

He had been so happy before I told him what all he missed out on, and then he just felt guilty. And sad. He said, "I ruined everything."

Talk about a bad, bad, bad mom moment. 

We sat in the living room, watching the NYE shenanigans on TV, all of us feeling bad. I wanted my cute photos of our celebration! I mean, if you don't post photo-proof of your experience on social media, does it even count? Did it really happen???

I wanted a re-do. 

And then my husband announced that we were going to church. Hmmm. The service started at 10:45, and it was now nearly 11. I said that Jack would be bored, and that we were all in a bad mood. He said we were going, that it was apparent we all needed a little church. 

And so we went. 

We slipped into the pew, half an hour late. There were probably a hundred or so people gathered, and only a handful of children. They had stations set up in the sanctuary, where you were supposed to do something...to be honest I've already forgotten, but I think it was something about giving your disappointments from the previous year to God.

Whatever. I was still so mad--and I felt incredibly guilty for stealing my son's joy.

In the first 5 minutes that we were there, Jack told me at least three times that he was bored. His attitude wasn't helping my attitude, but I couldn't really blame him. It *was* a little boring for an 8-year-old. So I whispered to Ken, "Let's go."

Ken shook his head no.

Umm...what? My people-pleasing husband was telling me no?

I waited a few minutes. Again, I whispered to Ken. "Let's leave." 

He stood up, and I grabbed my hat and coat, ready to make a quiet exit. But instead of walking out, my husband was walking toward one of the stations.

Well this was awkward. So I followed him, participating but not participating.

The whole church sat in silence for several minutes. And to be honest, the silence was good for my soul. I needed that stillness to reflect. On my year, on my faith, on my disappointment both with God and how our NYE party had ended. On my selfishness, on my stupid idea that making Jack feel bad would somehow make me feel better. On my need for social media affirmation of a good time. On another holiday season with 3 of our children living 7,000 miles away.

And then we sang, in one voice. We sang praises to God. We dedicated the new year to Him. We took communion, we prayed. And with just under a minute left in 2019, we did a countdown. We hugged and we kissed. We wished each other a happy new year.

...

On the way home, Jack said he was glad we went, that although it had started out boring, that he really enjoyed himself--especially the whole church counting down. We went home, watched the ball drop (we had recorded it), and we played Auld Lang Syne on the Alexa. Ken and I danced, and Jack came over and squeezed in between us--as we like to say--like bologna between two slices of white bread.

And in that moment, we were happy. Truly happy. 

It's been a long time since I banged pots and pans on NYE. It's been even longer since I watched a new year arrive while being at church. Sometimes traditions are forgotten, replaced by the new. But sometimes things come full circle, and you can't help but be thankful. 

For your past, for today, and for new beginnings.

Happy 2020, dear friends.