Every Christmas I go through the same sort of cycle. The season starts, I know it will go too fast, but we plod through those first couple weeks--spotty Advent Calendars, picking up gifts where we can, and trying to appreciate the season as the lights, decorations, and events get rolling. Then things get a little more serious, the pressure gets a little worse, the events ramp up further, and then it's like you blacked out for a few days because it's suddenly the week before Christmas and you can no longer ship gifts and there's still so much left to do at home, work, and beyond.
It's right around this time that I bemoan how fast the season goes and that I rarely get to just soak it in and have those pure moments of the true meaning of Christmas. It's so busy, and once I'm firmly entrenched in this stretch run when I need to cram in so many things and know those quiet moments will be limited, I'm always a little sad and frustrated and desperate to do what I can to maximize the time before the holiday glow fades. It's almost as desperate as when I picture myself frantically holding on to the last moments of summer and warm weather before it's gone for another 6+ months. But when Christmas is gone, it's gone for another 11 months. And I don't want to wish that time away because all of a sudden my kids are grown and all these years and Christmases have sped by fast enough.
The other day my cousin posted a link to a Christmas song I'd never heard. It was from family favorite Amy Grant, so that surprised me a bit. It's called, "I Need a Silent Night".
Well,
if that isn't the most perfect song for this last week before Christmas
and exactly my struggle for most of the season...how had I not heard it
until now?
This morning I was wrapping up the last of my work before a half day that I felt I needed to take because I have too much left to do. I was doing the little bit of work I had left after a busy frantic days of deadlines, checking emails and tying up any loose ends. I put on Spotify to listen to some Christmas music and kept clicking over to my browser window that holds all of my favorite links to my Christmas market webcams. I was giving them all one last look. Many of the markets have actually already shut down by this point, but some of the big ones are still going right through Christmas Eve. Some cameras are so beautiful--sharp pictures, even streaming video, overlooking these gorgeous, bustling markets. Lights everywhere, rinks, trees, market stalls, even carnival rides. Add in the lovely architecture surrounding so many of these squares and it's simply magical. Hopefully one of these years I will see some in person, but they just make me smile from here. I just needed that last look at them in between work things this morning.
As I was doing all of this, Spotify randomly served up a Michael W. Smith song. I was only half listening, but I realized near the end of the song that it was probably right up my alley. It was called "Freeze the Frame". When I looked up the lyrics, I realized it is literally my exact sentiment around my extended family Christmas celebrations and I immediately started sobbing. I think it's a combination of this time of year, an intense gratefulness for all of the amazing Christmases I've had, mourning the people who aren't around anymore because we couldn't freeze the frame, and also probably a fear of the how our Christmases will change in the years to come. It all just hit me at once. And then I went and looked up the lyric video for this post and it hit me all over again, mostly because the real family video footage that Michael W. Smith included reminds me SO much of what my Christmases looked like.
I felt like a complete idiot just sitting there crying (twice), but clearly this stuff is meaningful beyond words. As I mentioned in my last post, my awareness of how fleeting these things can be has only been amplified by three COVID Christmases--two at home and one that was close but lacking the extended family celebrations we're so used to. I think reality is hitting that we're starting to evolve yet again. One of my family celebrations disappeared a number of years ago, once my grandma passed away and my uncle started suffering from dementia. Craig's extended family celebration is probably never going to be the same because his aunt that has always hosted (in my experience, anyway--her parents did long ago) has seen her own family expand rapidly over the past few years, so now her family alone can fill her small living space. Never mind that we used to have all the aunts, uncles, and cousins crammed in, too. I guess we could have dropped in last year for something less formal, but the blizzard messed that up and I haven't heard anything this year. I'm hoping we get a chance to drop in--she loves seeing us so I'm sure if we called ahead we'd be welcome--but I don't know how our timing will work out. And that's not even getting into what Craig's immediate family will look like this year, since the problems that plagued Thanksgiving still haven't been solved.
On my side, thank God for my Uncle Jeff's unwavering commitment to preserving the family Christmas. He took over the family homestead after my grandma passed away in 2005, and has been happily hosting family Christmas (and Thanksgiving night and Good Friday) there ever since. The continuity has been helpful for easing our feeling of loss, since we can continue at least that one physical tradition. That house is so deeply tied into our family history--from every Christmas night I'd ever known (until the last few), right down to my dad as a kid in the adorable home movies of him and his siblings clamoring down the stairs on Christmas morning. Our traditional gift exchange morphed a bit even pre-pandemic, but at least most of the experience felt that same. COVID Christmas there was canceled (not that we could have gone anyway), the following year they canceled because someone had been exposed on Christmas Eve (but my mom and I stopped over briefly), and last year it was a smaller group because of the blizzard, and we couldn't make it because the Thruway was closed. The weather looks to be more than cooperative this year (50s on Christmas?!), but I can't even express how nervous I still am about illness this year. Craig has a blossoming cold that is still COVID-negative, but it's all too easy for things to crop up now and ruin everything again.
I'm at the point where I just don't want to let things go for another year--I want to get in a good, solid "freeze frame" moment savoring Christmas as it stands now, before things change again, because I think we're very lucky that everyone is still around that was around on Christmas 2019. That year, after a couple losses in January the two previous years, I know I tried to soak it in as much as I could. But now I'd like a chance to do it again--even more grateful for what we still have, but with this new sense of appreciation that all these missed years has formed.
Anyway, discovering those two songs this week was such a sweet, unexpected gift. As such, I'll take the chance to reshare my favorite non-traditional Christmas song, Labor of Love:
Here's one I consider a "new classic", or at least it should be:
And no joke, a couple minutes after I grabbed the embed link for this one, Spotify played it for me!
For the next few days, I'm sure I'll be seeking out every beautiful version of "O Holy Night" and "Silent Night" that I can find to try to recenter myself. Our church always does the most beautiful candlelit "Silent Night" at the end of the Christmas Eve service, and it is a great way to send us all back out into our celebrations in the right frame of mind. It was always the last song at my church's Christmas Day service, so it has long been a meaningful part of my holiday. And now, as I turn off my work computer and head to my basement for some marathon wrapping, I will shift to the "movie" portion of my Christmas traditions, where I get in all of my favorites while I wrap alone and in peace.
Little steps, little moments to get myself where I need to be before our celebrations begin. Merry Christmas, everyone.
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