I love Christmastime – the lights, the chill, the scarves, the hot chocolate. It’s always been a warm and safe time for me, even in the bad years. There’s always been hope at Christmas.
These days, when I think of this year’s Christmas I have two filmstrips running through my head. One is beautiful, warm, with our Christmas tree covered with decorations, the Christmas churches lining the mantle, and my mom bustling about, making Christmas cookies, wrapping presents, and dressing up for church on Christmas Eve. The other has a lot of the same images – the tree, the churches, the cookies, but my mom’s not there. Her seat is empty, she’s not in the other room wrapping presents, and she won’t be joining us for church on Christmas Eve. Everything seems a little less warm, a little less bright.
Even though I know one is true and one is false, both run in my head at the same time. So I’m split, both excited and expectant for the Christmas I remember from before, and brokenhearted and in tears because the traditions of before won’t ever happen again. Christmas will look different now, will always look different now, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
My favorite Christmas song from last year is Snow by Sleeping at Last. The lyrics say:
We'll build new traditions in place of the oldThis Christmas I’m hoping for some new traditions. May those new traditions bring a little bit of light into a soul that’s been hurting for a long time.
Cause life without revision will silence our souls
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