People, Look East

 (12/24/14)

It is Christmas Eve day, even as I sit here in the wee, small hours that are somehow still passing for the night before. In a short time the velvet, black wall out my window will lighten and the sun will rise, illuminating the now hidden island and the pond. It has been nearly seven months since I saw my first sunrise here. This is our first Christmas in the home we were always meant to have. And yet...

I strive to be an optimist. I work to make my statements, actions, thoughts and feelings positive. I try to approach everything from a place of gratitude. While it isn't always easy, it is always helpful. But a few days ago I posted what was, perhaps, the most negative sentiment I have ever publicly put out into the universe. It wasn't up for long. as I just couldn’t bring myself to leave it there, all cold and exposed. I can’t explain what was happening to me that day. Or rather I can, but I don’t want to. Suffice to say, it was as if my soul got sick with a little 48 hour bug and my body needed to expel that sickness, both through tears and through words. Hence the post. But then I needed to clean it up. So I got out of bed, wiped my face and hit delete. Consider THIS to be the open window needed to let in the fresh air and rid my soul's home of any vestige of that infecting germ of negativity.

I sat in church on Sunday, having just picked myself up by my bootstraps and dragged myself to rehearse the choir I have directed for the last thirteen years, and watched the children of the church tell us about Jesus’ birth. Every child, from my own young innkeeper to a pair of toddling stars with shining faces, had their role. They were appropriately adorable and the congregation was warmed and touched and amused at their telling of the story that brings us all together as a family under one sacred roof. But after the children walked off down the aisle, I was left standing in the choir loft, singing the old familiar song, It Came Upon a Midnight Clear. As it has happened so many times before (it’s one of the perks of the job) the words to a hymn I have known for what seems like forever, spoke to me like they were just uttered for the first time, for me to sing and for me to hear. Verse 3:

O ye beneath life's crushing load,

Whose forms are bending low,

Who toil along the climbing way

With painful steps and slow;

Look now, for glad and golden hours

Come swiftly on the wing;

O rest beside the weary road

And hear the angels sing.

I was brought to silent tears.

I am a summer person, to be sure, but, like many, so much of me is tied up in Christmas. Like no other time of the year, memories of the past and hopes for the future are all rolled into this shiny, silver ball of Now. That thing, that ball, all delicate and fragile, can be so light you almost can’t feel it in your hand, or so heavy it can weigh the sturdiest of branches down. It tells a story, our story, of childhood and parenthood, of darkest valleys, sunlit mountains, broken hearts and dreams come true. It sparkles in its bittersweet beauty and must be cared for like the treasure it is. This is the Christmas spirit.

But this year, for a small span of time, I wished it away. The overwhelming Now of it hurt too much to look at, certainly too much to feel. When you want nothing more than to reflect and share the joy of the sunlit mountains, it is hard to accept that even the valleys are part of Christmas. In advent, we are waiting, and I was waiting, and my faith was thin, but as sure as I am that the sun will soon rise in the eastern sky and light up my little pond, my little world, even then I knew that Christmas would light up my soul once again, as it should, as it promised. That perfect ideal, that made-for-tv Hallmark special is not all there is to Christmas. Christmas is not just the good. It is the promise. It is the hope. It is the blessed, imperfect life.

Since I wished away Christmas, my heart has been filled with these little, twinkling moments. With the sight of my grandmother’s face as she gifted us with another day to gather all together in her presence. With the welcoming hugs of friends, not lost, but misplaced for far too long. With my father, my ever strong and giving father, showing me that help is there, even if I don’t ask. With the strains of a guitar played by someone I care about, someone who has been as lost as I have, and my own voice singing out over that guitar, to an empty sanctuary, to just me and my God and without any fear. With the love of my husband and the incalculable, unspeakable joy of all my children being home. My Christmas wish was not granted, thank you God. Christmas is still here. It is not going anywhere. Today, even in the darkness, today is Christmas Eve. People, look east. The sun will rise.

Set every peak and valley humming

With the word, “The Lord is coming.”

People look east and sing today.

Love, the Lord, is on the way.