The family picture we won't send

This time of year we parade our best family photos. Sometimes we’re all neatly dressed, color coordinated and hair fixed just so (even disheveled looks are primped perfectly). Other times we display a menagerie of photos that highlight the year’s glory moments. Our family photos always possess a bit of awkwardness but nothing as uncomfortable as the photo we won’t send out this year…

The curtain closed on another day as we drove home from Coeur d’Alene. Christmas music played and we chatted about camo. Without realizing it we altered Jeff Foxworthy’s redneck with, “You know you’re from North Idaho if you wear camo when…” My cousins in southern Idaho warned me about this, “The banjos play up there…” Admittedly, their words of caution made me nervous at the time. Now I’m more concerned about blending in.

There’s an unspoken rule in North Idaho about owning at least one camouflaged item in your wardrobe — if only undergarments. I own none and find myself slightly concerned. Is this grounds for divorce in this part of the country? Can I be fired based on the fact my wardrobe consists of stripes, plaids, solids and an occasional geometric print?

No Mossy Oak or Realtree patterns. Not even a nod to the new feminine pink camo which I’m certain a dude designed to lure the ladies, “She’ll sport a hooded camo fleece like a team jersey and support his hobby.” Though I’ve learned in my short four months living in North Idaho that women hold their own when it comes to high-velocity projectiles flying downrange.

My husband and I mused further about camo and my wardrobe’s lack of it which led to the perfect family Christmas photo that encompassed North Idaho stereotypes:

Naturally the photo begins on a four-wheeler. I’m sitting behind my husband one arm tightly holding his waist while the other props an AR15 on my knee, camo beanie with a nondescript NRA logo gives way to rock gray eyes. While gripping his favorite hunting rifle my husband sits proud and confident. The beginning of weathered wrinkles around his eyes lead to solid strength, a gaze that says, “Don’t tread on me” echoed by our dog proudly at his feet.

Kids perch on the front of the quad comfortably, legs dangling over in the freedom of childhood. A BB gun rests across our son’s thigh while our daughter with an arrow nocked properly and aimed perfectly toward the camera. The foreground a mixture of pine needles and dirt, the background a neatly stacked pile of firewood foraged from the local forest, a provision for winter’s worst. Draped neatly across the wood is a “Make America Great Again” banner.

The cab air was light from laughter and my husband fully convinced we needed to take this photo and send it out as our Christmas card with the words “Merry Christmas from North Idaho." Because simply saying “…from Idaho” would not be correct. Through snorts and snickers I contemplated why our family sends Christmas cards and how friends and family would receive such a photo. The faces of our California friends and those we still hold dear around the country flashed across my mind’s eye.

Most would laugh or at least chalk it up to Holly family antics, but my heart felt a pang for my many friends still bruised from the past election cycle. Many are anxious about our country’s future and don’t share the hope Christmas ushers in that reassures our hearts that everything will be okay. Would sending such a card be worth the short-lived laugh?

My husband scoffed when I vetoed the Christmas card. Half-true words spilled out his mouth, “We don’t need to be friends with people who can’t laugh at a photo like that.” While I agree, we shouldn’t take ourselves so seriously when it comes to Christmas cards I’m concerned with more than laughter. Christmas is the birth of hope, the reason for joy and the future peace the world searches for.

Most view family photos and the update letters often found inside as "brag shots." However, these are evidence of God’s faithfulness, proof in our ordinary lives that something greater is at work. Quirky or contrived, those photos we snap and send are a reminder of a greater provision in our lives, a hope for healing as we see those we care about beat cancer, mend a marriage or welcome a new life into the family. Even the absence of a beloved passed to heaven is a reminder of the future hope of again meeting. Christmas cards are more than a check-off-the-list item.

I’ll laugh about our contrived family photo, maybe I’ll take it with my family for a white elephant gift, but if you receive a Christmas card from the Holly family we pray you are reminded of the reason for this season and that you find hope and peace in the birth of our Savior Jesus.

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Julie Holly is a resident of Bonners Ferry.