(I found this beautiful image on Facebook, but no idea of attribution)
This will be an unusual Christmas for us, our first without all of our children gathered together under our wing. Bryce and his fiancée will be in California visiting her sister. It will feel quite strange without him. In an effort to lighten my mood, I decided to post some Christmas shirts I'd happily wear, some shopping signs, and two Christmas cards my sons gave to me when they were much younger. Hope this makes you smile, as well.
From the Piper and Ivy website, I noticed these three holiday t-shirts:
We cut back on our Christmas spending this year. I didn't send cards (nor did I receive many - a tradition that is passé). In light of that, here are two hilarious signs (one I found on Facebook; one I took myself when visiting Nashville, IN):
And for your holiday pleasure, the cards my sons lovingly presented back in the day:
The one from Bryce is impressive because he declared the extent of his affection - ha! The one from Sean makes me laugh because it reflects their sibling bond back then.
May you and your loved ones gather together and enjoy happy, fun, and funny times together, perhaps bedecked in your favorite holiday attire. May you recognize the significance of the season as we celebrate the birth of the Son of God who came in human form to walk a path to the cross to atone for our sin and reconcile us to the Father. May whatever grief this year has brought, be eclipsed by gratitude for what God has given.
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Additional bonus - here's a beautiful Christmas letter and photo I saw on a Facebook post from Alexander McCall Smith (author of The #1 Ladies' Detective Agency books) - well worth sharing:
A Christmas message from Alexander:
Dear Readers,
Here we are, once again on the very doorstep of Christmas. And in the room beyond that doorstep, is the New Year, ready to declare itself with soaring rockets and the linking of hands in song. The song that we sing in Scotland to mark the end of one year and the beginning of another is, of course, Auld Lang Syne, the words of which are attributed to Robert Burns. He certainly wrote a version, explaining that he had taken the words from an “old man’s singing”. Many songs are composed that way: inspiration comes from a snatch of song heard on the lips of another, and this is then worked up into a polished version.
Most of know the first verse or so, and then fade away a bit. But the later verses are very moving. I always find myself choking up a bit when I hear the words of this song, in particular the verse that runs: “We twa ha paidl’d i’ the burn/Frae mornin’ sun til dine/But seas between us braid hae roared/sin auld lang sine.” That means, more or less: we two have paddled in the burn together all day in the past, but since those days broad seas have separated us. That strikes me as being so poignant: time may separate us from old friends, as may distance, but we don’t forget our old friends and what they mean to us …
Sentimental? Of course it is, but there is nothing wrong in feeling sentimental about friendship, and love, and the simple cherishing of others. We need not apologise for wanting an end to acrimony and division; we should not have to explain why we yearn so desperately for people to love on another rather than shower invective on those with whom they may disagree; rather than to fight with one another; rather than to spend more and more money on working out new ways of killing one another. Oh, how we long for the moment when those who are currently sworn enemies take a deep breath and say that they want to be friends rather than enemies. Of course, that’s easier said than done, but until people start taking the first step and acknowledging the humanity of their enemies, there is no way out. Our poor planet will otherwise be condemned to endless arguments over territory and its control.
And it’s not without precedent. It happened in Northern Ireland, where old enemies set aside ancient resentments and agreed to stop trying to settle scores. It happened in South Africa, where Nelson Mandela, that most gracious of men, urged people to put aside the past and embrace one another. It can be done, even if at the moment the talk all goes the other way.
What would Mma Ramotswe say about the times in which we live? She is the wisest of people: what would she say this particular Christmas if one stopped her in the street in Gaborone and said, ‘What do you think, Mma, about what’s going on in our poor world right now?”
She would look up at the sky, I think, and say, “It is very bad – yes, it is very bad at the moment.” But she would not leave it at that: Mma Ramotswe has never been one for moaning, complaining, or shaking her head in disapproval. So she would go on to say, “We must remember that you do not change people by shouting at them.” And we would listen to this, and realise that she is absolutely right. You do not change people by shouting at them, you change them by telling them that you love them. That works. It just works. Mma Ramotswe is right.
Years ago I wrote a poem that included a line that I once used in the title of one of the Scotland Street books. The original said: “But what can I wish for you? Wish for love over Scotland, like tears of rain – that is enough”. We took part of that line and has it engraved in coloured glass in a window in our house in Edinburgh. Here is a picture of it.
I see that inscription every morning when I walk downstairs. And I stand by it, I think, although I might broaden it a bit to include a wish for love over other places too – where you live, where you are reading this right now; where people who are frightened and bereft live; where people who are unhappy for any of the many reasons why people are unhappy live; for all those places.
May I wish you all joy and happiness this Christmas and New Year.
With love,
Alexander McCall Smith
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