Advent was a blur. We began a massive home remodel in November. I had called the contractor in June, made a trip to both New Mexico and Virginia, by van, in July andAugust, and what with all things "COVID", we were finally on the schedule to begin work just in time for the holidays. I had no stove on Christmas. I hadn't had a stove since early December, actually.
I had a little PTSD from last Christmas. We had gotten a terrible multi-family wide flu. My mother-in-law had a massive stroke on the 29th of December, just as I came down with my case of the flu. As soon as I recovered, my husband flew to visit his mother in the hospital. By February my husband needed to take another week to care for his mom, and he returned just in time for the pandemic to shut all of in our homes until summer.
My prayer this Christmas was for health. This prayer was graciously granted. My sister was able to make a visit with her beautiful family and I finally met my newest nephew for the first time. No one got sick during that visit either. Praise God!
After the holidays and the visitors, I started seeing trees coming down. I made New Year's resolutions with the best of them, and no one loves Spring Cleaning and "Resets" like I do! My entire family is made up of minimalists (minus one maximalist eldest brother who is most certainly an exception to that rule!) and while you wouldn't know it by looking at my home (filled with the "stuff" of an eleven-person-strong homeschooling family), I love empty, white spaces. But I didn't start my "January Cure".
Somehow, I couldn't purge the mantle of the nativity scene. I couldn't take down my tree. I sat, I've been sitting, through these twelve days of Christmas. Come Sunday, the Baptism of the Lord, it's going to be packed away until next year. I am so grateful that I decided to just SIT a minute. NOT pack it all away. Jesus is still a babe in the manger, then brought to the temple, then worshiped by the Magi. On Sunday, He will appear to us "all grown up". It really does happen in the blink of an eye, as I see as I look *up* at my sons, now 17 and 16 years old. Babies don't keep. So, while they are in arm, I sit. I gaze, smell, and savor this quiet, brief moment.
