It was December 26th before I noticed it, this little something something about our Christmas tree. No doubt this is because a bit of my attention was drawn to the slew of presents beneath it, the wonder and excitement of the promise held by each and every package.
They were so pretty. There were so many! Finally Christmas morning dawned, and dressed in our matching PJs with Hendel’s Messiah playing in the background, we commenced to opening.
It was joy upon joy upon joy. Something so thoughtful and meaningful from Eliza. A surprise chosen (with no suggestions from me) from Tim. Gifts and treasures from friends and family so perfect we paused between nearly every unwrapping for a photo or a text or a giggle.
And then came breakfast, and roasting the turkey, and an afternoon of straightening up.
By 3 the tree base was bare, and I spent a glorious Christmas night in that very room, sitting by the fire, a new (gifted) novel in my hands. Still it took until the morning of the 26th before I noticed it.
Now I cannot not see it.
Another Christmas miracle, I thought. There all the time, and yet it took the excitement of the day–and the stripping away of the packages and wrappings and ribbons and bows–for me to see it. For this little fir cross to come into my heart and remind me of the larger story: the joy, and the pain, and promise of love, everlasting.
30 Days of Joy