My kids keep asking me what I am doing for Christmas, and I tell them I haven't decided. I have. I want to stay home alone--not like the movie with the burglars--but with certain memories and some reflection, and maybe a good book or TV show, if there is such a thing. I read poetry. I like to read it alone with hot cocoa, some of it I even wrote, and Christmas Day is an excellent time to do it.
Does this sound depressed or sad or, worse yet, pitiful? Not to me. It sounds like a time to be blessed by memories, to remember people who are not here and those moments of joy we shared. Going to somebodyelse's in-laws, no matter how nice they are, makes me feel very isolated and lonely.
I will enjoy the lights and decorations, and I will worship in the candle-lighting service, and I will savor the tastes and smells of Christmas goodies, and I will even join in some of the hugging and chatting and games and gifts. But my most important celebration of Christmas this year will be the stories and blessings recaptured from Christmases long gone. Maybe I'll share them with you.
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