The Beauty in the Bell

When I was in elementary school, we made a Christmas ornament every year. I vaguely pouring melted crayon into a small milk carton to make a candle, folding and gluing the pages of a Sears catalog into a Christmas tree, gluing crayon shavings onto a picture of a tree to simulate ornaments, and painting a picture of an elf.

The ornament I remember the most is the one I made in kindergarten. I have no recollection of what we used to make the ornament, although it seems to have been some kind of papier-mâché that we shaped, painted, and decorated.

I made a bell.

As I was shaping the bell, my mind knew exactly what it should look like. Unfortunately, my crafting skill left much to be desired. Where a normal bell has gentle curves, my bell looked like something . . . well, something a kindergartener would make. Basically it was a rounded square attached to a blobby rectangular kind of shape. I didn’t know how to shape curves. But I knew what it was, and I loved it.

I remember sitting at the low table in kindergarten class, carefully covering every bit of the papier-mâché with a thick layer of red paint. I applied dots of glue and then sprinkled generously with silver glitter. I remember that I wanted more time than we were given to add gold glitter as well.

On the day I took it home, I presented my ornament to my mom. It was my first contribution to the family Christmas tree, and I was so proud. I don’t remember what my mother said at the time, or whether I told her it was a bell or she had to ask. We hung it on the Christmas tree, and I felt proud every time I saw it.

During the following years, we continued to hang the bell on the tree, where it eventually was joined by my brother’s construction paper Santa Claus that also looked like it was made by a kindergartener (because it was). As I grew older, though, I could tell that my bell didn’t look very bell-like at all. I was torn. I wanted it to be on the tree because I remembered how much I loved making that bell. But I was also pretty embarrassed that it didn’t even look like a bell. The bell moved to the back side of the tree. I still knew it was there, but I also didn’t have to see the evidence of my inability.

My Christmas Tree

A few years ago my mom gave us all our childhood ornaments. Every year now I take a picture of the bell ornament on my tree and share it in the family Facebook group. As imperfect as the bell itself is, it has become part of a cherished tradition that connects me to my childhood and my family. As an ornament, it is imperfect—but as a memory? Perfection itself.

The bell was designed as an ornament, something to be enjoyable to look at. It turns out, though, that its appearance doesn’t even matter.

The beauty in the bell is in all the memories associated with it—and as I hang it on the tree each year, I get to revisit those memories all over again.

And this year, I hung the bell at the front of the tree, not in the back.

Lessons from the Bell

When I think about how I feel about that bell every year, I can see some lessons I need to apply in other areas—including in my marriage and in my sex life.

• I was willing to overlook the imperfections of the bell and simply enjoy it hanging on the tree. Why do I find it so hard to overlook my husband’s imperfections, or mine? Why do I so often find it difficult to simply enjoy something? Even now, I sometimes start thinking about how I look during sex, which distracts me from enjoying the moment with my husband.
• Joy is found in the process, not just the product. I worked so hard on that bell, and although I didn’t make a good bell, I worked very hard at every stage. The effort I put into the bell was what made me so proud. The purpose of all that work made me feel like an important part of the family because I was making a contribution to our Christmas tree. It’s easy to become so orgasm-focused during sex that I forget to pay attention to how good arousal itself feels, and how good it feels to just be touching my husband. (Remember when holding hands was so fulfilling?)
• How something turns out isn’t what matters most. Perfection comes not in the execution but in how it contributes to our memories of each other. My husband and I have tried some sexual activities and positions over the years that have been epic failures when it comes to feeling good. But those very same failures have become cherished memories of our private relationship. We enjoy reminiscing about those events—not because they were so great sexually, but because they were things we tried together.
• Don’t expect something you do for the first time to be flawless. It takes practice to get good at something. Although I can’t make a perfect bell yet because those curves still confound me, I can at least draw or shape something that looks like an actual bell shape as opposed to the ornament I made in kindergarten. Anything new in marriage—a new sexual activity or position, trying to do a better job of helping your spouse feel loved, or even implementing a different style of communication—is bound to take some effort and practice before it really works.

Lessons for You

I want to encourage you to think about your own marriage and sex life. Is there something you’ve been struggling with or something that keeps you from enjoying your time with your husband?

Think about whether these lessons can apply:

1. Overlook imperfection so you can enjoy the experience.
2. Enjoy the process of trying something, not just the result.
3. The memories you make with your husband matter, not just whether or not something works well.
4. Give yourself grace and time to grow.

In case you’re wondering, yes, the pictures in this post are of the actual ornament. If I can find beauty in this attempt at a bell, maybe that will encourage you to look for beauty in places you might not otherwise recognize it.

---

On a personal note, I want to let you know that I am okay—or at least I will be okay. Between a new fibromyalgia diagnosis early in the year and an adult child’s legal problems, my brain just seemed to lose the ability to think clearly. Unfortunately, writing is really difficult when you can’t even think.

Over the past several months, I have been intentional about resting, prioritizing sleep, and being gentle with myself. Self-care is something of a buzzword, but that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. My brain seems to be recovering from accumulated stress, and my mind has drifted more frequently to writing.

I’m not where I want to be just yet, but I can tell I’m making slow progress—and as I always say, slow progress is still progress!

I would appreciate your continuing prayers for me to learn how to manage life with fibroymyalgia and to get better sleep.