Church News: December

It is December, and I can see my breath just before it tangles with the air outside.

It is December and every lamppost is beautified with strings of delicate, twinkling lights.

It is December and everyone is smiling just a little harder; it’s easy for some and it’s painful for others.

It is December and memories are being hung from branches and taken out from mental scrapbooks.

It is December and I cling to hot drinks to soothe me from the inside out.

I celebrate and I remember, and I mourn. All for loved ones. Magic that was once so effortless, now requires more of me and my suspension of disbelief. But happiness comes more naturally, too, gratefulness for cider and socks and good books to tuck into. I have an appreciation for the pockets of pureness I was cradled in during my early years, and I marvel at that which I have managed to hold onto.

The time of year when I think of people – really hold them in my mind’s eye – and take in their laugh lines and all the little clues they’ve left as bread trails for me to find. The perfect gift for you would be…

I think of my perfect gifts, weird little oddities I hadn’t even known I wanted until I was handling them and awing in wonder and befuddlement.

I think of the kind woman who carefully taught me to wrap a present with intention and presentation. I think of school, making hideous ornaments that should have gone straight into the trash but that somehow made it from my backpack to some poor aunt or uncle’s Christmas bin.

My holidays were made by people who are no longer with me, but who have left a stamp on this time of year anyway.

I think of my mother, of how she defined so much of it all, of how fair or unfair that may be.

Of how she still defines so much of it all, of how fair or unfair that may be.

I am learning what the holidays – December – mean for me. I am learning about where past and future meet. Present. Ha. There is tradition, and then there is innovation: figuring out what works and what doesn’t and adapting and altering accordingly.

The key is to make sure that the magic never dies out, while ensuring that the phantom ache stitched into its lining doesn’t rip open and let the stuffing spill out over the entire affair.

Each December, I face the same complications, the same questions of how I can navigate this time best, where the balancing edge between gingerbread houses and Marley’s ghosts juts out exactly.

But one thing that has helped, more and more each year, are the ways in which I have seen others share their own questions, anxieties, losses and how this time reinforces that deep-seeded nature to extend grace and compassion to one another.

Whether one celebrates a specific holiday or is just pushed into reflection by the unforgiving weather outside, this is a time where we can appreciate that we are not alone in our complex contemplations.