Tuesday, December 22, 2009
I missed the Blue Christmas service at church. I'm bummed, because that is my favorite service of the year. Not that I get all depressed during the holidays, at least no more than you can expect when you live where the sun sets at 10 til 4 in December, but I just like the somberness of the service, the walking and praying of the labyrinth, and the quiet contemplation that the evening brings. Christmas is a joyous occasion, as we wait once again for God to walk among us, and show us how to live a sane life, even when surrounded by insanity. But for those of us who live far from home and family, it is also a daily reminder of what we have left behind, and lost.
I love living in the inland northwest. I love the 4 seasons, all the outdoor pursuits that are available, and I love the people. I have made great friends, and I have a church family that I depend upon. I could never imagine moving back east. That is just not who I am anymore. It was however, the place of my childhood. 312 Evelyn street is where I spent so many of my Christmases. I can still feel the warm air from the heat vent that I would sit in front of, as my family sang Christmas carols on Christmas Eve. My mother would play the organ, all the kids would sing, and my Father would sit in his chair and smile, enjoying his one great accomplishment in life, his family.
Thursday night, Christmas Eve, G and I will go to the 7 o'clock service at church, then come home, and with much unasked for help from the heeler, we will open our Christmas presents. Then we will eat pizza rolls, drink hot chocolate, and watch "the Snowman." Christmas morning, I will go up and ski for a few hours with my buds, and then G and I will go over to Pastors house for an informal dinner of comfort food. That is our tradition, and I love it. I would not trade it for anything, except for maybe one more time hearing my Mother play her organ, and to see my dad's smile.