Month: December 2015

After my last post, I was fully expecting a brown Christmas. There was no sign of snow in the forecast, and I began to think it was possible we would hit New Year’s Day without a trace of the white stuff. But God had a different plan.

While it had snowed just enough to cover the grass with a thin layer, the truly magical scene was while I was coming out of my church after the Christmas Eve service. It was a candlelight service that honored the hope that is associated with the coming our our savior. I loved hearing my pastor’s message about the light of the Lord inside each of us. Walking out of the sanctuary to the view of enormous snowflakes floating down from the sky was the icing on the cake. Just what I needed in that moment.

Christmas Day was restful. There were excited children, who were so grateful for every gift they received that I wondered what kind of scheme they were pulling. There were cookies and candies filling an entire table to the point that I worried it would buckle under the weight of it all. There were naps. Cat naps. Long naps. Short naps. All the naps. There was sledding and laughter. Most of all, there was time together.

Today, after the kids and hubby allowed me to sleep all the way until 8 (!!!!!), I woke to the sight of a blanket of snow covering the front and back yards, as smooth as freshly ironed linens. The feelings of contentment far outweighed any seeds of negativity that were attempting to burrow into my heart.

Then, the plows came. Disrupting the clean sheet of snow with chunks of ice and dirt. And the driveway was shoveled. Sending the kids out into the backyard, I watched as my energetic 9 and 7 year old boys tramped through the snow, building snow forts, having a snowball fight, and laughing gleefully as they pelted each other with snow. This. This was the best part. Even better than that smooth sheet of snow I woke up to this morning. I loved watching them from the dining room window, with a cup of hot peppermint tea in my hands. I would rather have a million footprints in that snow all season long than a pristine coat of snow.

Footprints = fun!

Footprints = a childhood full of memories!

Footprints = boots that keep their toes warm in the snowy cold!

Footprints = quality time together!

The evidence of their joy will be there until the next snowfall, when we will repeat the whole process over again. Their squeals of delight will further feed my soul.

What in your life makes you want to shout for joy to God?

Three days before Christmas and no sign of snow. Not even a flurry. However, I found myself slipping and sliding on the ice as I made my way across the YMCA parking lot this morning, making me question my date with the treadmill.

It has happened before… the brown Christmas.  Just a few years ago, I recall a Christmas day that included bike riding in the driveway for a couple little boys. It felt unnatural then, and feels unnatural now. We here in Minnesota are simply not accustomed to anything other than a white Christmas. My husband and I lived in Phoenix for 7 years. Our first holiday season there was a shock to my Minnesota-at-heart system. I can remember driving around, giggling at the saguaro wrapped up in colored lights. I found it surreal to make plans for hiking Christmas day, enjoying the sunshine and 70 degree temps.

The lack of a white blanket of snow puts a psychological damper on that holiday spirit we associate with the Christmas season. It is tough to feel the warm fuzzies of the soft twinkling lights and a cup of hot chocolate in contrast to the drizzling rain with temps hovering just above freezing, which is cold enough to be uncomfortable, but not cold enough to produce those magical snowflakes falling from the sky.

I’ll admit I had a tough time getting into the spirit of Christmas preparations. With a major project due for school, a bout of strep throat, and the emotional baggage of losing 3 grandparents this year draining me of all my time and energy, I was reluctant to engage in any of the things I would normally want to do. My husband took over shopping for presents and even handled decorations (both indoor and outdoor) without a moment of complaint. I struggled with deciding whether or not to send out Christmas cards. I threw one together last minute only to discover that our mailing list had been eaten by our computer hard drive. A plea for addresses produced only a handful of responses and after digging out our old address book, I felt the sting of seeing names and addresses of those who either passed away or have faded from my life for one reason or another. I knew I needed to find a way to start enjoying the season, even if it was a little forced.

So I did.

I began baking cookies. A lot of cookies. It is one of my favorite things to do. Armed with a truckload of flour, sugar, spices, and more, I dove into the task of creating some of my favorite treats. I don’t bake often, but love every opportunity I get. Except when I experience what could be called a Pinterest Fail. I have those moments. An unsuccessful recipe, or dough that is over-beaten. I ruined a batch of spritz cookies, which made me wish my grandma was here to show me her ways. Instead of dwelling on the negative sense of loss and failure, I found a fun moment in it, making a game on my Facebook page to see if anyone could guess what they were supposed to be. It helped get me through what could have dragged me down into sadness.

I have since been vindicated with a much more successful batch using a different recipe and a much better frame of mind. These held together and grandma would have been proud. Using her old cookie press makes me think of the thousands of cookies she created using it. And the countless cookie I ate every Christmas. Grandma always brought an enormous spread of candies and cookies that she had made.

 

Even working through this, I know that this season is not really about the snow on the ground or the hot cocoa and decorated tree. It certainly isn’t about cookies. But hanging on to some traditions are worth the fuss. Making cookies with Grandma’s cookie press, using recipes in her handwriting, and sharing these moments and memories with my family… they are worth the effort.  Those are just some of the rituals I want to hang on to as part of the celebration of the birth of Jesus.

And it worked.

After all that baking, I am ready for Christmas. I am ready to celebrate and teach my children about that little baby born in Bethlehem. I am ready to spend time with family and friends. I am ready. Perhaps I needed to kick-start my holiday spirit a little with a tradition that I love.

I also have a lot of cookies. Feel free to stop by for a couple.

Merry Christmas to you and yours!