It’s early afternoon on December 24th as I write this. We’ve just finished a light lunch and a chess game (I’m on a streak these days, and not a positive one.) I’ve assembled our traditional Christmas Morning Wife Saver, and it’s resting in the refrigerator for the morning. Gerry’s at the dining table trying to finish our first winter jigsaw puzzle. I have a strong suspicion there’s a new one waiting for us under the tree, so I’d like to see this one wrap up.
Outside, the sun is shining, and it’s chilly at -17 Celsius / 1 Fahrenheit. I haven’t been outside yet today. When Gerry brought the trash bin in, he said the worst problem is the ice. It’s a real issue right now. We don’t have much snow, but the ice is treacherous when driving and walking.
I’m taking time to do a bit of art in my woman cave, listen to The Nutcracker, and tap out a few words here. It’s likely to be the last time I listen to that piece of music this year. It’s been a treat, but I’ve almost had my fill. Same with Handel’s Messiah. And shortbread cookies. It’s easy to get caught up in excess at this time of year.
Tomorrow is Christmas Day. (Thanks, Captain Obvious.) I have enjoyed the season of Advent so much that I’m almost ready to be finished celebrating (I use the word “celebrate” in the most general sense.) We’ll enjoy another quiet day at home tomorrow. I no longer cook a big, traditional turkey dinner with all the trimmings, but we’ll eat well, nonetheless.
But first, the richness of the season continues with the Christmas Eve service at St. Aidan Anglican Church this evening. We’ll attend the early Blessing of the Crechè and Eucharist (there’s not a hope of seeing us at Midnight Mass) and call it done.
I wonder what you’re doing today, tonight, and tomorrow. Are you like us, enjoying some quiet? Or perhaps calm before a Christmas morning storm?
In whatever way you are marking Christmas this year, my wish for you is an abundance of the things we’ve meditated on over the past four weeks of Advent—hope, peace, joy, and love.
Hope, because without it, we fall into despair. Peace that goes beyond circumstances because, Christmas or not, life is hard, and this year it seems the entire world is groaning under the weight of things that are not as they should be. Joy that’s deeper and more real than feelings that commercialism stirs up in an attempt to make us self-medicate by spending. And love, because you are so loved, and the world needs whatever measure of it you, in turn, give back.
Happy Christmas, friend.
