the twenty-second of december

Today there was present making. There was felt cutting and scrapping and sewing. Pillowcases were made for the boys. Mulling spices were packaged and wrapped. Glitter made an appearance.

I found the time and space to just sit for a few minutes and read Sarah Arthur’s Light Upon Light: A Literary Guide to Prayer for Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany. It has been the Advent guide that I’ve been the most consistent with (in a perfectly inconsistent way). It is a mixture of scripture, literature, and poetry. It fits me at this stage in my life. And Susanna Childress’ poem Bethlehem, Indiana is worth the price of the book.

Yet even in the midst of carols and fabric and cookies and presents real life showed up. The oven rose up against us and decided to go on strike. The dishwasher went on strike last week, and it got fired. We think the oven just needs to be negotiated with.

But I still found tears coming to my eyes. When one of the boys walked into the kitchen and heard what had happened, a dramatic monologue took place about how awful this week has been and how bad things are. Broken dishwasher! Broken oven! Their passion about the situation highlighted how ridiculous it all was. Is.

And so I did what I knew I was supposed to do, even if I wasn’t feeling it and would have rather high-fived and agreed with him. I told him how blessed we were. How this is just life. Full of beautiful things and full of broken things.

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