This December

It is a dim, snowy December morning.

I sit at my gray desk in the corner of my room, my study that we cobbled together from a spare bedroom, and I look out the two corner windows, through my white lace balloon curtains.  These curtains are probably silly and out of style, but I like them, so I don't care.  They are particularly pretty with snowflakes floating behind them.  Frilly white curtains, in front of thin, horizontal white mini-blinds, in front of windows with white muntins dividing the glass into eight rectangles per pane.  All this, in front of air full of white snowflakes busily traveling many pathways on their downward route, like so much city traffic.  Layers and layers of white.

This is quite a contrast to my memories of last December, when the sky shone brilliant blue, and we were still raking great piles of golden leaves, and the grass was green.  Last December at this time, we had just finished with an episode of effort towards healing, an effort that incurred more bills than benefit, but isn't that often the way?   I remember how bruised and numb I was, raking, astonished at the beauty of the blue and the gold surrounding me in my personal darkness.

This year I feel much less alone.  Last year, loneliness loomed in bright silence.  This year, I amble about, blanketed in quiet.  Except when I go out to shop for Christmas.  Then the music is obnoxiously loud.  The mall makes me feel more sad than ever: so much junk, so much desperation to sell it, so few customers.  If I could write the motto for Christmas, I would make it:  More love, less stuff.

More love, less stuff.  Doesn't that sound wonderful?  Time, laughter, meaningful conversation, shared stories and memories, long letters, delicious cups of coffee and tea, beautiful music, prayers of gratitude.

This year, we are waiting for a baby to be born while we think of the Baby who came to save the world, so many years ago.  We wait for a human baby, not divine, just a little fellow dropping into existence whether he cared to or not, because two people wanted to have a family, and God saw fit to grant their desire.  We wait to look into his little eyes and touch his tiny fingers and toes, to wrap him in blankets and shelter him against the cold terrors of the world.  We pray for what he will become; we pray for abundant grace on all of his life.  May God envelop him and prepare him and use him for much good.  May his life bring healing, peace and love to many people, a reflection of that other Baby, whose birthday he might even share.

Lo how a rose e'er blooming

from tender stem hath sprung!

Of Jesse's lineage coming,

as men of old have sung.

It came a flow'ret bright,

amid the cold of winter,

when half spent was the night...

This flower whose fragrance tender

with sweetness fills the air,

dispels with glorious splendor

the darkness everywhere!

True man, yet very God,

from sin and death He saves us,

and lightens every load.

~traditional