"What do you think about enchiladas?"

That was the question I dropped into my family group chat as my siblings and I were planning our Christmas gathering. We were talking through the usual details, including the assumption that we would do the traditional meal with turkey. No one objected, exactly, but no one sounded excited either. It was familiar. It was fine. It was what we had always done.

When I typed the enchiladas question and added, “What if our get-together is more "Feliz Navidad" and less "Currier and Ives?" my phone started dinging almost immediately.

“I’ll bring nachos!”
“I can do the guac!”

The energy in the conversation shifted. Suddenly we were picturing something different. We've done the elaborate meal for many years. It is delicious and comforting, and it holds a lot of memory. We will probably do it again many times in the future. This year, though, we realized we wanted something different. Not because the old way was wrong, but because tradition is meant to serve the people gathered, not the other way around.

Sometimes we overcomplicate things that don't need to be complicated. What we're really longing for isn't the perfect spread, but the ease of being together without so much pressure.

Enchiladas feel doable. They feel fun and not exhausting. They make room for laughter, for us pitching in without stress, for conversation that doesn't have to pause every five minutes because something else needs attention. In choosing something simpler, we're not lowering the bar, we're clearing space.

And I wonder if that same dynamic shows up elsewhere in our lives. We add layers of expectation, obligation, and performance onto things that were never meant to carry that much weight.

Faith can become complicated.
Relationships can become complicated.
Even rest can become complicated.

What begins as a good practice slowly turns into something we feel we have to manage or get right. (Overthinkers - I see you. Take a breath.)

Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is simplify. To ask what actually nourishes us. To let go of what impresses and hold onto what connects. To trust that God does not require elaborate displays, but honest presence and simple devotion.

My wish for you this week, Reader, is that you will remember that God meets us most often in the simple and the ordinary. I hope you will release the pressure to make things perfect and instead tend to what is real and life-giving. May you find holy joy in gatherings that leave room for grace. That's the fiLLLed life.

Live a fiLLLed life, Melissa ​