With the Dawn of Redeeming Grace

Today was my last day in the office for just over a week.  Despite the fact that I will (sigh) be back in the office between Christmas and New Year's this year to work a few days, this holiday break is feeling - as I sit in my living room staring at my Christmas tree, comfy sweatpants on, a glass of wine and a small piece of chocolate on my left, deliciously and wonderfully long.  Years when Christmas falls on a Thursday always seem like the best years, schedule wise, time off just begging to be used for days both before and after the 25th.

After I finally sent my last email today, set my out of office replies, and shut down my computer, I walked out into the cold, pitch dark for 5pm, night.  There is something I have come to love about the cities I have lived in right before the holidays; particularly on a day like today, the last working day for most.  I like the calm and quiet that comes over the city in a subtle, unannounced way.  It's a hard feeling to put your finger on, and harder still to describe, but I imagine, no matter where you live or where you work or how you spend the majority of your days you know what I'm talking about.  It's the sliver of space in between the bustle of your every day and the hustle of holiday travel and gatherings.  Those last moments we all remember when, as children, we walked down the school hallway waving goodbye to our teachers, en route to the buses that would take us home on this, the last afternoon before winter break.  It's the final well wishes for a Merry Christmas exchanged with colleagues as you stand to turn off the light at your desk and reach for your coat.  It's the walk you decide to take through the park even though it is slightly out of your way, simply because the Christmas lights are all up and the chill in the air is inviting and pleasant rather than the usual temperature of downright frigid.  It's letting yourself pause, no matter that you've got a million errands to run, in front of a beautifully decorated storefront, marveling - just as you might have when you were much younger - at the colors, the festivity, the magic.

'Tis the season.

Lately I've been trying to appreciate those unexpected moments of calm, of peace, that sneak into my days on occasion, particularly around the holidays, throughout the month of December.  They never last long. But perhaps that is what makes them all the more profound.  If you're not careful, they'll fly right past you - just like magic - and you'll never catch your breath or stop to notice just how perfect this one and only moment is, right this one and only second.

I love Christmas Eve church service; I have for as long as I can remember.  Of course, it's really the last five minutes of the service that I cherish, when the entire congregation stands to sing Silent Night by candlelight.  Every year, even though I know exactly what's coming, I cannot help but be moved to tears.  For there we all are, family, friends, and strangers. Yet for the briefest of moments, we are all together. Each and every one of us with our busy, hectic, wonderful, maddening, confusing, heartwarming, heartbreaking, and ordinary lives.  It feels like magic.

Happy Christmas, friends.