Things unmade, unbought, undone

Sometimes, I feel like this lady:

Bah. Who am I kidding? I feel like her every day.

There are six rounds of cookie dough in the freezer that I have not baked.

There are rooms in my house that I have not cleaned.

There are bags of gifts that I have purchased that I have not wrapped.

There are people on my list whose names I have not checked off, and yet I still have nothing.

There are meals that I have not planned.

There are stockings that I have not stuffed.

There are people that I have not visited.

There are cards that I have not sent. Or addressed. Or written.

There are decorations that I have not assembled.

There are parties that I have no intention of going to.

There are obligations that I have not met, and words I have not written, and tasks that I have not done, and orders that remain – and will remain – unfilled.

Sometimes, it's all I can do to breathe. Sometimes, a moment of quiet reflection seems like a monumental task. Sometimes, we are in darkness, and we cannot find the light.

Sometimes, the tumult of the season blinds us to the season – that moment when the world held its breath. When the world's darkness birthed its one, wild imagining, its assertion that hope persists, that love exists, and that divinity is indeed clothed in flesh every day.

That every child born is the breath of God.

And every mother that clutches that child to her breast is the heart of God.

That God is everywhere. And we are blessed.

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