It’s snowing. [I know that’s nothing new for most of you, but for me, it’s my very first snowstorm this year!]
I’m eating a rum log, just frosted by my (growing up beautifully and too quickly) baby sister.
It’s cold, cold, cold outside, but we’re all toasty warm in a Christmas-time house.
Yay. I’m home.
Jameson was a doll. He managed a cross-continent flight, two incredibly late-night restaurant outings, two days of hotel rooms and funeral homes and ceremonies, and a 12-hour drive to NY.
And he was a doll the entire time. What a sweet boy.
I was so glad to be in Arlington, glad to be a part, glad to be able to hear sharing. But oh how hard. How very, very sad. So much heart aching. So much not understanding. Five weeks later, still so much just wanting it to not be.
Christmas time is here. Merrick is ecstatic about his growing number of presents under the tree. Yes, all of the things that make this what “children call their favorite time of year.”
But most of all, an opportunity to turn yearning hearts towards His Coming. To encourage our hearts with the truth that 2000 years ago, He remembered us and our plight — and some day soon, He will intervene again.