Christmas Presence
Not today’s sunset, but it’s got the feeling right.
The western sky is fading into gold outside my big windows, tree branches darkening into a maze of black against the sunset sky. On my Christmas tree just inside the window, a row of colored lights bubble in determination below a section of brightly decorated darkness. Part of a strand went out a week ago, and I can’t stand the thought of unwinding the whole tree to replace them. I’m just counting on the rest of the lights to do their thing and overwhelm the darkness.
A basketball game plays on TV, and a ham slowly cooks in the oven. I should get up and go exercise, or pitch a game of Apples to Apples to my family. I should finish my book, or fold the towels in the dryer.
Instead, I stay here on the couch under my blanket, watching the tree, the changing sky, and the clear star at the top of the tree, hovering over all of it.
Earlier today, we played Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza (if you’ve never played that game, it’s worth checking out now), and one kid lost and cried and the other won and gloated a little, and I sent both of them into the car with Joe when he came home at lunch so they could ride with him on an errand, just to let them get out of the house and give them a break from the same rooms and walls.
We watched a Christmas movie this afternoon, the second one I’ve sat down and watched straight through with my kids this week. (Joe and I both fell asleep at the end of it, but I think it still counts.) Usually I’m checking my phone during a movie, or calling for them to keep it playing while I switch this load of laundry, or stir something on the stove. But today I’m trying to be still, to watch, to laugh, to play, even when the activity doesn’t turn out how I wanted.
The sky outside has changed again, in these few minutes, back to a pale blue, the branches again brown and tired. I hear my kids laughing and fussing, their soft voices trailing out here to me in the living room.
What do they learn by watching me continue in this daily practice of writing? What do they learn from me about light in a dark world?
I keep typing, putting up words on the screen letter by letter and trying to be present where I am.
