Last Christmas was the first my mother spent in heaven. There was a brutal kind of loss that overshadowed so much for me. Between then and now, we sorted through and sold her house. While an arduous and tearful a process, it was also like a treasure chest. There were so many things they had collected in all their travels and intended to give as gifts–some even labeled with our names. Mom was a great one for tucking things away, never to surface until now. Also there were things from all those years of life, among them Christmas boxes. One of these I found this summer but determined to leave unopened until Christmastime. I hadn’t envisioned that I would be alone when I opened it to decorate the tree, but that’s how it turned out. A tearful process again.
And yet I felt her with me. The delight she took in handmade, artistic, and just lovely things. This little Anri deer had been collected in Italy and hangs near the chair where I write beside the tree at night. Little things, but they bring joy and remind me the body of Christ is a cloud of witnesses here and before the throne. A chorus of carols proclaim the incarnation, love becoming flesh. In spite of turmoil and distress, our God is awesome and supreme. We are his beloved and He is everything. Wishing you a blessed celebration of his birth and the triumph of his love. Glory and praise!