Yesterday, Sara, Nathan and I carried boxes of Christmas decorations in from the garage. Among the Yuletide items was my Advent calendar. My husband’s sister made that cloth calendar when Matt was small. I hung it on the wall and Sara and Nathan pinned on the small animals that mark the days until Christmas. That’s a ritual with them. Next, I’ll put the Santa and snowmen gourds on the mantel as I do each year.
When finally, all the boxes are emptied, the tree up, and everything Christmasy in place, the adornments won’t be dazzling nor color-coordinated; they’ll mostly be old. From year to year, I carefully save all those small ornaments and then get them out in December. But, that’s okay. They are like friends who have been with me for a long time. They have character and background and each one has a story.
There’s a sort of comfort or encouragement in this ritual of opening the Christmas decorations. They mark the year, the passage of time. I think about past Christmases, celebrate the present, and look forward to the next one. Like the calendar marks the days, those bright treasures commemorate the years. As I put up the small manger scene, I’m grateful for all of life’s blessings and especially the One whose birthday we celebrate.
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