Christmas. What is it that raises it up and starts it spinning? For me, it is always about the magic, the transformation, if you will. It is so beautiful to see all of our worlds through different eyes. It is amazing to see how different our lives are, and in the same breath, how much is the same. The world is getting smaller, no small thanks to social media. I have gotten to see Christmas around the world, something I never dreamed I would see.
What is your favorite part of Christmas? Do you have one?
Let me not rush too hastily into it. I want to read the mystery of the season, the Christmas story, and discover its power; attend to the meaning of it all and to the challenge the story poses as to how I live and what I regard as important. I am seeking that revelation, as the urgent tries to distract me from the important. Much of really being in the true Christmas spirit for me involves rejecting the trimmings that are not.
The tree from last year. There is always something special about the tree. in years past, I could feel it coming and the moment is divine, the fortune, a few steps away, and the joy is nigh... Enjoy the beauty, every step of the way, wrapping love around many hearts.
This weekend, I have a few people coming over to make nutcrackers for Christmas. We always have one or two times we do it between Thanksgiving and Christmas. They are fun to make, plus, it is always great to spend time with those you adore.
In this reflective space of Advent, I focus beyond the headlines to keep me in tune with this most beautiful celebration. Oh, Advent, I do love thee, where I begin to light the candles, feeling warmth as a rekindling begins in my heart, my heart. These candles are, but, a small light in the darkness. When the darkness is especially intense, it seems like that small light shines so much brighter. Advent emphasizes to me those smaller moments of light. Those small moments in life. The important little details.
A flower. Always. #alwaysaflower My house just wouldn't be home if I didn't have my poinsettia. I purchased one today, healthy and beautiful, adding to the Christmas charm. Inhale deeply.
All I have are my words, armed in my mind, written in pen, stand by stand. Oh, yes. Still by hand. It has a different feel. Altered not by keys, backspace, and delete, I write, erase, tear it to pieces and start all over again. And again.
It’s my way. I walk out to the deep end of the page and dive right in.
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
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