Monday, December 20, 2010

Strange Christmas

Thanksgiving and Christmas are my favorites. I know that's nothing unique to me, but with my birthday sandwiched between it has always been a time of my year that moves both quickly and wonderfully. I love the togetherness of Thanksgiving, the ritual of the meal. And I have always appreciated the mysterious hope of Christmas. Since I became a mother my love for Christmas has multiplied. I feel connected to the nativity as a woman who has waited for a baby and given birth. I feel connected though all the hopes I have for my children, overlapping and taking on a life of their own. Over the years, we have survived many hard moments where I have prayed for my children in the same way mothers always have since the beginning. We have also lived many beautiful experiences where we have felt as though the world was full of blessings designed just for us and our family and that it could be no better.



I love Christmas.

It is rough to be transitional right now. We have less than 2 weeks left here, and though we have a tree we are still living out of boxes. (In fact we should be packing.) I don't cook like I used to. I try, but we gave up 80% of our dishes and utensils. It is really hard to pick up where I left off with everything missing and in a strange apartment. I made leek soup the other night. 

We brought 4 outfits per child. We gave up every one but 1 toy for each child and the loved-by-all train set.  I left all my stained and ripped farm clothes and have (thanks to a great friend) 4 skirts and 1 dress, plus a few jeans and tee shirts. We brought no furniture but our wire-rack shelves. All this was required– we barely fit what we brought into our moving trailer– and at first it seemed doable. I know it is, I know many people do with less. But it is hard. 

In less than 2 weeks, we will be moving into what simply must be our home for a long time. I daydream that I might not leave the new place for weeks, just decorating and making it home. Being without a home is hard on my soul. Not just a place to sleep, a home. A safe warm home where the kids aren't afraid to walk down the hall to go potty. A place that shines of us and our family and makes us feel ... at home. We don't have to own it. We don't have to have everything in the world that we want. Still I know we won't forget this time of transition and letting go of possessions. 
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