Something is odd this year. I don’t feel the same need to jump into Christmas. Don’t get me wrong, the wonder of Immanuel is still strong in me and I’m eating clementines like there is no tomorrow. But I’m not over anticipating. I feel strangely grounded. Almost as if I know I need this ‘God with us’ thing to face the year ahead, rather than just one day. I love this season immensely but I feel a little detached from it all at the moment.
I have a new metaphor for this place we have found ourselves in at the end of a long few years. I feel like we’ve reached some kind of harbour, a small town Cornish one with stone walls and cottages up on the hill. The storms have died down. I have stopped gripping onto a tiller tightly whilst gritting my teeth. I slowly ease my body off the ship and find the more stable ground of being on shore for the time being.
We look around. There are twinkly fairy lights, some corner shops full of delight to explore, an ancient oak beamed pub to drink hot whisky in and some friends staying in cottages nearby. It will be good to stay for a few weeks.
I have stopped. Husbandface feels more solid and real right now. He is present in a way I haven’t seen for a long time. I am tired. We need some harbour rest before working out what the voyage ahead looks like. January feels like a good new start for the sail on. For now we are here, wrapped in present moments, reaching out to those around, enjoying old friendships and new. We are here. We are held, safe in the harbour until we are called on.
Christmas feels like a good time for not thinking about the road ahead for a while. Come join us in our quiet sitting if you have a moment.