Read, Write, Love, Repeat

I love this season. Love. For so many reasons. I always have.

In recent years I’ve come to realize more and more that it serves as an anchor to the year. It calls me back to years past unlike most of the rest of the year.  Who waxes nostalgic about March 9th? Ah, honey, do you remember that March 9th when the kids were little? We at mac and cheese for dinner and watched Blues Clues. Magical. Okay, well that is kind of magical when viewed through the lens of nostalgia, but that’s not my point.  Christmastime always calls me back to how quickly the last year has gone by, what we did/loved/watched/felt like in Christmases past, wonderful memories of my kids growing up and myself growing up, filled with the wonder of it all. The Christmas church and school programs when they were little, the Christmas choir concerts in high school (the kids’ and my own/James’), the cookies for Santa, the decorating and wrapping fails. All sweetened by the veil of nostalgia. I remember what beauty there has been.

As I unpack my decorations (a multi-day process), I love seeing the “old friends” that come out, pieces that hold such meaning, pieces that transform my usual home into something extra special, a place to welcome even more family and friends than usual. I love the preparation of not just my house, but the food, the gifts, the room for my daughter as she comes home from college, preparation of my heart to remember and worship, not just get swept away in the frenzied tide of all there is to do. This intentional preparation of my heart and my home adds so much to the anticipation, making each act and day somehow more special than at any other time of the year.

This time of year I remember the days when I lived at home with my parents, all three of my older brothers already out on their own. I was always so excited for each of them to come trickling in on Christmas Eve, bringing an extra level of laughter, fun, noise, and togetherness into the house. Then sisters-in-law joined them. Then I had my own home. Home is one of the biggest parts of Christmas for me. And home has looked a lot of different ways. We all long for home, especially at this time of year- our home and family here and our forever Home with our Father.

Three years ago, Christmas changed for me. Just three days before Christmas of 2015, my sweet-but-tough-as-nails 88-year-old Dad was called home to celebrate Christmas with Jesus. Forever it changed how I see my favorite holiday. I’m not sure why, but this year is extra hard. I am extra teary and extra missing him. I’ve thought a lot lately about how he always teased us about watching those “horrible old Christmas shows” that we’d seen “a thousand times” and added “Bah, humbug!” to as many sentences as humanly possible this time of year, but he was always right there in the living room, watching Rudolph, The Grinch, White Christmas or Charlie Brown with the rest of us. Despite his protestations (largely there for comedy relief and to tease my Mom), he knew the importance of remembering, of home, of family, of his Savior.

Remembering Dad I choose this year to be even more hopeful, more focused on the rock-solid promise of Christmas, the Gift of my Savior, the reason we celebrate, the confidence I have that I will again see and celebrate with my Dad.

This Christmas, take time to remember the beauty that was- it is a gift. Take time to prepare your heart- it is His throne. Take time to focus on home- the place and the people in it- and point to your heavenly Home. Take time to sit silent in the presence of the Gift and the Giver- therein is CONFIDENT HOPE.

Merry Christmas.