Christmas Is:

  1. Writing and sending out my card (twenty in hard copy and about double that by email). It’s fun to think of each person and to hear back from most.
  2. Receiving a box of snacks from a friend in Iowa who is adjusting to not driving. She mentioned picking them out quickly in addition to her other shopping when she did get a ride, just like I do.  So good to see her adjusting and grumbling.
  3. A gathering with friends who live in assisted living and memory care. One asked a poignant question: How can I be joyful when all I can write on Christmas cards is my name?  But at the end of the party, they were busy planning the next one.
  4. Most friends need nothing so most of my giving is to charities and a toy for the person’s pet. A few folks got limericks written for them.
  5. Worship, music, crafts, fellowship, bells, stamping supplies, cooks, table leaders, the Shepherd and Card designer extraordinaire,  cleanup crew, all of my team  worked together to produce a wonderful December Inclusive Ministry  church service.  48 Christmas cards were crafted for residents of Lake Halley Memory Care.  
  6.  On a day dominated by a five-hour County Board meeting, a lady I call every week and her granddaughter stopped by for tea. She brought lefse and I gave her fruitcake.  Friendly chatter reminded me the real world was there in addition to the political world of voting about welcoming refugees or not.
  7. Irritated about not knowing what was in a package and who it was from until I  remembered that that’s kind of like waiting to open presents until a particular day, just a blind version.
  8. A friend of forty years called with a Christmas joke: Why does Santa have three gardens? A: To “hoe, hoe, hoe” in. 

I found and shared a Mary Oliver poem:

“MAKING THE HOUSE READY FOR THE LORD,” BY MARY OLIVER

Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but
still nothing is as shining as it should be
for you. Under the sink, for example, is an
uproar of mice — it is the season of their
many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves
and through the walls the squirrels
have gnawed their ragged entrances — but it is the season
when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And
the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard
while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;
what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling
in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly
up the path, to the door. And still I believe you will
come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox,
the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know
that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,
as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.

  • Went to the memory care party with the sister/caregiver of a friend who is having a hard time adjusting to being in care. Calvin tolerated wearing reindeer antlers nobly and was rewarded afterwards. Although we had a sing-along with jolly Christmas carols, it felt sad to me because I know how hard it is on care partners and residents. I delivered the cards we made at Inclusive Ministry and the activity director seemed grateful. Hot chocolate bar seemed to be Swiss Miss not chocolate bombs, so I demurred. I made sure the caregiver had as much company as she wanted over the holiday and took a long winter nap, since it was the first day of winter (45 degrees notwithstanding).
  1. Had pizza with a friend and enjoyed her long-term friendship as well as her Christmas baking (most cookies were covered in chocolate)! Calvin was thrilled with a homemade dog treat and a bite of banana.
  1. Listened to a Christmas story written by the pastor at Lake Street UMC. Each year he writes one centering the outliers in today’s society. What a gift.
  1. Read several Christmas books, but none really resonated. This blessing by Kate Bowler did:

A Christmas Blessing

Kate Bowler

The tree, the friends, the family, the fullness.

The groaning world, the ache, the incompleteness.

We need to sit here for a minute.

Sit here in our cherishing-what-we-have.

Sit here in our missing-what-we’ve-lost.

Sit here in our almost-ness.

Then a baby will be wrapped in a blanket and laid down before us.

We will sit there for a minute.

We will cherish the Savior we have.

We will yearn for the “Peace on Earth, goodwill to all.”

And in our almost-ness, we will breathe:

Emmanuel. Emmanuel. Emmanuel. 

God with us.

I wish for you and for me many Christmas moments, when, as Joan Chittister put it: “to start over: aware of what has gone before, conscious that nothing can last, but full of hope that this time, finally, we can learn what it takes to live well, grow to full stature of soul and spirit, get it right.”