My entire family was standing, gleefully belting out Joy to the World – my brother and I smirking at the fact that our grandpa knew all the verses by heart – when the room went black. Understandably, the song stopped and congregation went immediately silent. My little brother politely nudges, and asks with a curious whisper, “Aren’t they supposed to hand out the candles before they shut off the lights?” It was around that time that the pastor’s calm but assertive voice chimed in. “Take a seat; the back-up generator should come on momentarily.”

There we were, standing right outside the door – a family of deer frozen in the headlights – and all around us, falling from the sky, was snow. In Texas. And this particular family of deer was dressed in shorts and flip-flops.

Now most everyone has experienced a power outage, that rare occurrence you laugh about later after dad went to the basement to the fusebox, but at a church … during a service … on Christmas Eve? (And is it odd to anyone else that this church had a back-up generator?) It was a weird occurrence, but wait – it gets better. 

A few minutes pass. And another few minutes. And then the pastor announces, “Alright, well folks, it looks like the remainder of our Christmas service will have to be cancelled.” You can imagine the gasps and sighs and chatter that kicked in. “Our generator doesn’t seem to be kicking in and the weather has taken a turn for the worse. Safe travels, God bless, and merry Christmas!”

I should mention that my family was visiting our grandparents at their winter home in Texas. This is why, when we stepped outside, our glances at each other  got even more confused. My gut told me, “Something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong.”

There we were, standing right outside the door – a family of deer frozen in the headlights – and all around us, falling from the sky, was snow. In Texas. And this particular family of deer was dressed in shorts and flip-flops.

Snow is no big deal to us Wisconsinites, who see snow (at least) five months of the year, but in South Padre Island, a mere hundred miles from the equator, it’s unexpected, to say the least. Suffice it to say, I was a bit shocked. And quite cold. But instead of focusing on my plummeting body temperature, I was laughing. Great big, Santa-esque, bowl-full-of-jelly laughs. 

Because everyone else is freaking out.

Women in the most impractical high heels invented have their husbands arms in what appear to be death-grips, slipping and sliding as they make their ways to their cars. Luxury sedans are tearing out the parking lot, only to get stuck in a mere four inches of snow. Harried soccer moms are gathering kids covered in glorious white fluff and piling them into minivans, leaping into the driver’s seat, only to find that their vision obstructed by surprise attack snow. It’s not often you get to see people who have never experienced snowfall. (We later learned that night that it hadn’t snowed in South Padre for over a century!) It was total chaos and comedy gold. But also terrifying, because I knew we were going to be sharing the road with these people.

Who would’ve thought that we would still experience a White Christmas? We were greeted on Christmas morning with the image of a light dusting of snow on palm trees. 

Christmastime always seems to carry a load of anticipation. And as the anticipation grows, so do my expectations of how awesome and grandiose the event will be, especially compared with years past. But here in Texas, anticipation morphed into disappointment. Did I anticipate lying out and tanning after opening up my gifts? Absolutely. I was gonna be the only one who returned to Eau Claire after the holidays with a tan. So I was disappointed when I walked out those church doors to see that my dear friend Old Man Winter had stalked me across 1,596 miles? Uh, yeah.

But, let’s face it. It was still Christmas. And that meant that my heart was as warm as a cup of hot cocoa, filled to the brim with (chocolatey) joy, no matter what the outer circumstances were. In light of all of this, I propose a toast: let’s drop our vision of the ideal holiday season. And let’s face our fears with Yuletide courage. The ham might burn, someone’s eyes might be closed in the family picture, the cat might knock over the tree, and dad might have to settle for a giftcard, which, let’s be honest, is probably what he wanted in the first place.