Last year my favorite Christmas memory is Max’s voice from the back of the van shouting, “Merry Christmas, Mommy!” at every new display of lights on the houses in the neighborhoods we cruised around for the purpose of checking out the lights.  I was in no mood for Christmas.  I switched out the china to the Spode on automatic.  But Max didn’t get my moodiness and I enjoyed his never-depleted joy at each new light display.

Time heals, right?  It has, in my case.  Healed as the time passed and the things that needed to be done got done.  As I got on with the lives in front of me needing breakfast, rides to school, help with homework and clean laundry.  Time at the pool watching the swimming, diving and playing.  Time reading and listening to the Word at church through good sermons each week and, oddly enough, through a video series to which I strenuously objected.

God is funny, have you noticed?  Never mean-spirited, just humorous.  We do best when we can laugh with Him, at ourselves.  Mrs. Moore, in her study on Proverbs, said recently that a scar doesn’t hurt, a wound does.  A long-term hurt probably means we have a wound we won’t let heal.  As I mulled over my response to Christmas last year I am O.K. with each year being it’s own.  But I can’t, and won’t, be a flat tire every year.  So this year the train, Lego train built by Mike, Diego, Mad and Max with Mom doing the track layout, is on the dining room table!  The dishes are being slowly switched out.  The front window has a small ceramic tree with lights so we can spread our “Merry Christmas” to neighbors and passersby.  It still smells faintly of cigarette smoke.  A tribute, perhaps a scar, but no longer an open wound.

May your days be merry and bright, anyway you choose to light them!  And may your wounds heal in the light of His loving presence.

Blessings.

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