I love Christmas for many reasons, one of which is that it is a chance for those of us who HATE change to force everyone to join us. We insist on doing things exactly as they have always been done and drape our stubbornness in the honorable cloak of tradition. Christmas is not the time for innovation, and this Christmas was no exception. The whole family submitted their traditional Christmas lists about a month ago (Dad wants a plane, mom just wants everyone to be together, and very specific kitchen ware for which she attaches coupons, Lyman wants strange items and unheard of books, Zach wants stylish old man academic clothes), and then we generally get people nothing from their list. It is more of a creative way of delivering a yearly update. On Christmas Eve we eat the same things at the same party with the same group of dear friends. We stay up late singing through the same green carol books, trudging our way through all 5 verses of “Good King Wenceslaus,” (because it is a story, and stopping early is just disappointing), multiple singings of “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem”, and we end the evening with the lighting of the final long awaited candle on the advent wreath and singing “Silent Night.” And I wouldn’t really want it to change, because the miracle of Christ’s birth requires no embellishing or renovation to render it more special.
- "Art rediscovers, generation by generation, what is necessary to humanness. " -John Gardner
Lately, on InstagramIt’s been the desperately whispered encouragement for the past couple months, exhausting months where parenting and adult responsibilities left us little energy to just be Us: staycation is coming. We went a whopping two miles away for a decadent 2 nights together... and it was everything. Rest and laughter and time to remember, hey- I loved you before I loved the family and life we have built together. Beyond thankful for the past couple days . (And shout out to the grandma who made it all possible -@angiecolemanstone. She’s the real MVP)Went out of my way this week to pass this cemetery a couple times, because I can’t get over this display of beauty and life in the midst of death. That’s the painful beauty of Holy Week, the uneasy blend of sorrow and joy that leads us to Easter, passing through death on the way to life.