I really have meant to write.
Upon checking, I’ve written two times in the past two months. A record low over the past 9 years. There were years I’d write four times a week.
Life happens. The holidays are crazy even though I had every intention of slowing down and injecting more meaning and less chaos. We have three ten year olds, two full time jobs, volunteer work, school activities, friends and family. It’s just busy.
It’s also been bittersweet. We’ve had uncertainty and family members struggling and people moving and then, this week, my best friend lost her oldest son.
There has been such joy. Gingerbread houses and school parties and dinners with dear friends and helping others. But then there’s just also been this cloud. Sun and rain.
Our church has a director of liturgy who has given us space this season for lament. Reminded us what ADVENT has stood for through the ages. Asked us hard questions and made us confront the commercial “merry little Christmas” gloss we Christians have put on a season with so much more meaning.
So I will write. I miss it. I miss you.
But not tonight. Tonight I pack to fly to Minnesota to attend the funeral of a sweet son and brother taken too soon. I pack the littles to go hunting with dad later. And then we’ll all be back together to celebrate the New Year.
We’ll pop fireworks and laugh and clink our champagne flutes together but we’ll also pray for healing and peace. In our hearts and in our country and in our world.
Until then, Merry Christmas dear friends. Where ever this finds you, I pray you can see God. Love to you all.