For the first decade or so of my life, December 26 always marked the start of the blues. Even though there was still a week of vacation left, everything fun and holiday-related was over. The time of waiting and anticipation had passed; all the gifts had been opened, all the family get-togethers wound down, no more church dressed up with poinsettias and wreaths. It was probably my least favorite week of the year, which had been preceded by the absolute top.
I still feel a fleeting sense of post-Christmas blues as December 25 turns to darkness, but it dissipates when I remember two things: 1) that Christmas will come again next year, and 2) that Christmas (and Advent) is only the beginning. We have waited so long over these weeks, and maybe even longer than that, and now the time has come--hope and love and peace and joy have landed on this earth again to save us. Of course, they never really left, thank God. But my sense of missing Christmas (probably expounded as a child by the fact that time seems to go so slowly) has now transformed almost into another Advent--continued anticipation, ongoing hope for what this new chapter, this new year will bring. And the knowledge that whatever comes, we will keep the light going until this sacred time of waiting comes 'round to us again.
Thank you for reading, writing, praying, and hoping alongside me this season. It's been a gift. Merry Christmas!