Hi, friend,
It’s a windy, chilly Tuesday here in Saskatchewan. As usual, Gerry spent the morning at the fitness center. I wrote a note to my granddaughter and popped it in the mail along with a little something I hope delights her, then went and got my hair cut.
We just finished lunch, two games of chess, and are settling in for an afternoon at home. Reading. Writing. Painting. Jigsaw puzzling. Maybe I’ll make those shortbread cookies I’ve been thinking about. Who knows? For now, I’m popping in here to check in and tap out a few words. No matter how we spend it, the afternoon will unfold peacefully into the evening.
Weather forecasters are warning of a winter storm blowing in tomorrow. I’m already waffling on plans, given the ice and snow said to be coming our way. There’s a twisted sense of anticipation as I check in with the weather apps and experts for the latest—torn between looking forward to, and dreading, what’s coming. (I do like a good storm, she says from the vantage point of a retired person who is not tasked with snow removal and can choose to stay cozy at home.)
One week from today will be Christmas Eve. The season for us has been quiet and will remain so for the duration. Apart from the non-traditional tree in our living room lending a soft glow in the early morning and evening, and the Advent candles in the window of my office, it’s pretty much life as usual around here. I look forward to the evening church service on the 24th, and imagine we’ll come home and find a choir to watch and listen to on the big screen before turning in. Then, a quiet Christmas with a simple meal. Boxing Day (my favourite of all days in this season). That liminal week between December 25th and January 1. And finally, Epiphany, and a return to regularly scheduled programming.
But, whoa. I remind myself to live the moments without looking too far ahead.
The news is still bad. Worse, if you can imagine. (Sadly, we don’t need to imagine because it’s all there in front of us—more heartbreaking every day.) Closer to home, we’re all carrying personal burdens, too. My word, it’s wearying to live in this world.
I’ve enjoyed conversations with a handful of people over the past few days. Each person has given me a gift through our interaction. A random stranger at the store. My hairstylist. The woman I go to for pedicures. My daughter. And I’ve read good words from tender-minded people shining light in the shadowy corners. So much gratitude for those who do this. Truly. We can choose to use our words and online spaces to spew rank garbage that increases general anxiety, or we can shine light. Thank God for the light-bearers.
I’m thankful for other things too.
- The eastern light just before dawn—here on the prairie, it’s especially beautiful some days.
- The Day One Journal app (I’m there every morning and, often, at other times throughout the day.)
- Starbucks hot chocolate pods for the Keurig.
- The Nutcracker.
- A new poetry book.
- Text messages in the middle of the day.
- Handel’s Messiah.
- Liberté Pumpkin & Spices yogurt (seriously, if you’re in Canada, go get some).
- The Lectio 365 app.
- My teddy bear plush cardigan (I was meh when I got it last year, but am loving the cozy warmth this year. Shoutout to another Canadian company.)
- Another good read written by a Canadian author.
This is turning into a ramble, veering off the path intended when I started. It’s got more of a letter flavour than a post. That’s okay since most of you reading it will do so in your email, so let’s go with that. I’ll sign off, now, and hold you in the light, trusting you’ll pause, breathe it in, and pass it on to someone who needs it. (Hint: that’s anyone and everyone.)
Until next time,
P.S. What does light look like in your world these days?