This time of year, everyone stresses over making everything just right: the right present, for the right person, and the right food at the right time and the right colors on the right sized tree so things will turn out right and everyone will be happy.
Well, folks, I'm here to tell ya that it is not going to all be perfect. They may have already gotten that present. You might burn the pie. The cat may pull the tree over. And you know what? That's the beauty of it. We don't tell stories about the perfect Christmas, we tell stories about the time the lights went out in the middle of slicing the turkey, the time so-and-so got stuck in a blizzard and didn't get here til midnight, the time the baby slung mashed potatoes at grandpa's face.
It's the little imperfections that make the memories, the mangled mash-up of so many people together that somehow weaves itself into a beautiful tapestry that we look back on with joy. It's the hiccups and the "whoopsies" that make it beautiful.
Or, in this case, the wrong verse, the wrong song, or a random solo that really make the performance:
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