I've never been a good sport about taking down the tree and admitting that Christmas is really over, that the time of anticipation and celebration and joy must now yield to months of cold, dark, winter. Some of my friends seem happy to have all the hoopa behind them and are ready to return to their routines. Not me. I want to linger in Christmas. To savor it. To suck every last stripe off every last candy cane. To remember all that was good and lean into the places that were hard, knowing that Christ came to bind up those broken places.
On the way back to school this morning, my son said that he'd had a good holiday break. His words were bittersweet. I was happy that he could look back with joy on these days with family and friends, and sad that they had come to an end.
I was happy to have had our daughter home from college but she's gone now, having left to spend time with her boyfriend's family before the start of the next semester. Who knows what our celebrations with her will be like in the future. I grieve the sweet Christmases of her childhood.
I am tempted to wallow in sadness, to complain that there is little to look forward to in the cold, dark weeks and months that lie ahead. Instead, I'm asking for grace to be open to the present--to be grateful for God's daily mercies. To realize that what I am grieving is exactly what Christ came to restore--life where sins and sorrows no longer grow, where no thorns infest the ground. No more longing. No regret. No goodbyes. No tears.
I pack away Christmas while longing for eternal Christmas, living forever in the presence of Emmanuel--God with us. When I will never, ever again have to take down a Christmas tree.
58. Candlelit fondue dinners with good friends.
59. Handmade gifts from the heart. 60. Snow clinging from branches on New Year’s Eve.
62. My son getting to spend the day with his aunt, uncle, and cousins touring an active duty sub.
63. Lighting sparklers at midnight.
64. Paying off the church’s mortgage.
65. A strong husband willing to do lots of shoveling.
66. A visit from my college roommate—having been drawn together by our common faith; celebrating God’s faithfulness through the years in each of our lives.
67. Singing Christmas hymns one last time at an after-church gathering in a home with outstanding acoustics.
68. Knowing that our great high priest bears the names of Israel’s children on his breastplate as he intercedes for us.
69. A delayed opening creating some space to ease back into our routine.
70. Days that are getting longer.
71. Hearing the beloved teenaged son say that it had been a good holiday break.
3 comments:
I enjoyed your list filled with sweet Christmas memories.
I can so relate to how you are feeling. It ia so hard to say good bye to our adult children.
Your list is so sweet and filled with genuine love for the Lord.
Thanks for the reminder of our High Priest who knows us by name and intercedes with us. That is a gift indeed.
I have been thinking the same thing- about the bittersweetness of the end of the break. Chicago is frigid and locked in dreariness, and I return to the roteness of daily work from the uniqueness of visiting family and friends and endless hours with Joel. I am thankful that you remind us to think forward to the 'eternal Christmas'. It helps me to remember that sweet moments now are always fleeting but there will be a time when they 'stick'... like this season's ubiquitous snowfall :).
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