Time for....

Recently, I have had little time to blog, little time for laundry, little time for anything really. How can this Dec. 25th deadline alter all daily routines, all local traffic, all music being played night and day in homes and stores? It has great power. And then, on a Sunday like today, as I sit in the congregation and listen to the Christmas Choir presentation, I feel the glory of the season --for just a few minutes I am allowed to just be. My husband's lovely tenor voice sang the first solo. His gentle vibrato was like the ghost of Christmas past-- a reminder of a time when he performed frequently, and I was young in my love for him. I did not yet understand.

My Abbie and Millie, in their matching red dresses from Grandma Wells sang in a little quartet next--their voices clear and high, and faces bright. They are confident --unaware of Christmases to come, where responsibilities will inevitably bring a gravity to their world. Sam alternates between laying across my lap for a tickle-back, and kneeling in the corner with his "guys" and hymnbooks, buried deep in his imagination. He is at peace today. Zach, my Christmas baby from long ago has finished passing the sacrament, and has joined the ward choir on the stand. He is in his suit. He is standing next to his father. My mother-in-law sits beside me. She is quiet and calm, as usual. I feel like squeezing her arm, her shoulders, and attempting to express what her time with us here has meant to me. It is as if, after all these years, we finally have the gift of a bit of time to slough off our shyness about each other.

Millie has returned from the stand. She sits by Susie, Russ and their Gracee girl. She smiles broadly at the baby in hopes of one in return. She is rewarded, she climbs up on the pew and twists Susie's long hair. Russ looks on and smiles as well. We begin the closing song, my chubby baby has already spit up on Grandma's coat and skirt. He is finished being social. I take him and roll his body into mine and begin my perfected bounce. He falls for it and relaxes into sleep.

I smile. I take a mental picture of the joy captured in this Christmas present. It is joy that is possible only through the adoration of the Christ child.

Abbie's Sunday afternoon creation of the nativity (rock, hay from the barn, wood from the shop)