I had some ideas for posts that I wanted to do this week.
Until our world was upended on Friday, December 14.
A post on Washi Tape just wasn't going to happen. I can hardly think of what to write a week later. It all seems so trivial compared to the heartbreak of the families in Newtown.
I have read some beautiful posts that bring some clarity, a sense of understanding of what we are trying to grieve with and for those parents and family members.
Kelle Hampton brought me back to what is important in this post last night. Diana Trout has a great idea for something to DO. Brene Brown has a fabulous post Here.
From Brene's post, I found this 26 Acts of Random Kindness, which brought tears to my eyes. All of these led to this Friday's Rambling.
I put Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus under glass this year.
I'm not sure if my eldest was horrified or thought it was quite funny.
This set has been at my Mom's for as long as I can remember.
I have been enamored with this particular Baby Jesus since I was very little. In my mind, this little figurine was pretty close to the real deal. He brought hope and promise. Maybe even the magic of Christmas.
The Baby Jesus figurine has somewhat lost it's allure for me as I have gotten older. Not that I'm not enamored with Baby Jesus. It's stupendous to me to think of God entering this world as a baby.
This year, it's Mary who has my attention.
She just looks so darned tired.
I mean, really. Who wouldn't be? Riding a donkey right before you are about to give birth and then having to settle for a stable for a birthing room cannot be energetic in any form.
This particular Mary has that tired look on her face that says, "I am quite certain that if I don't close my eyes for just 5 minutes, my head is going to roll right off of my shoulders and land in the water trough."
But then she takes another look at her child, and you can see just a ghost of a smile.
That's what I'm going to do this Christmas.
Take another look at my children.
In so caring for mine, maybe it will honor those who have been lost to us.
We will eat our breakfast together, and say prayers.
We will bake together and I'll watch my children as they interact. I will memorize the shape of their hands as they work, and imprint the sound of their voices on my heart.
I will squeeze them just a little tighter, and linger a little longer with them.
And then I'll pray. I'll pray for those Mamma hearts that are in so much grief right now. And I'll pray for the Daddies that can't tuck in their children at night and for the brothers and sisters that don't understand.
I'll cry when I need to, and not feel like I shouldn't. Maybe I'll even close my eyes for five minutes.
Blessings to you and yours this Christmas. May you find true joy with your family and friends and be able to take another look at what is meaningful to you.