It’s Christmas Eve. I have cookies baking in the oven and Toffee cooling on top of the refrigerator, tasks that normally would have been completed weeks ago. Somehow this year was different. Work, busyness, and some issues with my back have consumed the days and weeks usually given to Christmas preparations. Some traditions were sadly neglected this year. 

The exterior lights remain in their boxes in the basement. Instead of platters of Christmas goodies, we will have a couple of selections. Plans for handmade gifts were shelved and replaced with store boughten. I have a list of Christmas blog posts that remain unwritten and unpublished. 

It’s the tension we all experience. We work to make the Christmas celebration special and in doing so, almost lose the real meaning, the real magic. 

Tonight, four of my five children and my son-in-law will sleep under my roof. Tomorrow, my house will be filled with family. Like you, we will open gifts, share meals, laugh, play and probably even take a nap. 

This had been a difficult year for our family. We’ve walked a road we never expected to walk. It’s left us battered and bruised. We’ve experienced fear, hurt, anger, and disappointment. Failure has shouted it’s accusations. 

But as our family gathers, the Christmas preparations I didn’t manage to get done this year will be forgotten. All of the busyness and chaos, the disappointments and failures, the things that threatened to overwhelm us this year, those things that challenged our faith, stole our hope, brought tears to our eyes and forced us to our knees will fade.

We will allow peace, joy, and love to take their place, to bring healing where we’ve hurt and hope where we’ve felt hopeless. And overwhelming gratitude will fill my heart … for precious loved ones and for the one who humbled himself to be born in a manger, the Christ child, Emmanuel, God with Us. The one who knows our brokenness and loves us still. 

May your hearts be filled with hope this Christmas.

“Mom, do we have room for one more?”

In a few days, family and friends will gather at my house and around my table. My mom and I will cook our traditional Thanksgiving favorites, almost exactly the same way we do every year. We rarely deviate from the tried and true recipes that have graced our family’s Thanksgiving table for generations. 

The cranberry relish is the same recipe my great, great grandmother made and I will serve it in the same crystal bowl I’ve served it in for 26 years. The potatoes, eggnog, sweet potatoes and pies will be prepared the same way I’ve done them for all of my adult life, the way my mom did them when I was a child. Every now and then the menu will change slightly, but not often and the changes are rarely drastic. 

Sure, I’ve tried experimenting, but my kids do not want any part of that! The protests were loud and unwavering. They like our traditions. Some have been passed down for generations while other, newer traditions we’ve created together.

Whether new or old, traditions are important. 

Traditions bring us together and give us a sense of belonging, an identity.  There are things we do that are unique to our family. They are a part of who we are and they help to define us. 

Traditions provide a sense of stability and continuity. They unite the generations within a family. Every time I prepare Cranberry Relish I think of my great, great-grandmother who first prepared it. I never knew her, but I feel connected to her all the same. 

Then my mind takes me back to my own childhood. Standing next to my grandmother in her kitchen as she taught me to prepare the relish. She’s been gone for over twenty years now, but every year, as I put cranberries into my food processor she’s right here with me. 

Often, this task is now delegated to one of my daughters. They measure ingredients, add sugar and oranges and all of the things needed to make this a family favorite. They talk and chat. We laugh and tease. In their minds they are making relish but I know it’s so much more. 

In those moments we are connected to something bigger than ourselves, to more than just the here and now. It unites us with the generations who came before and those that will follow. And I think, “Gram, you should see these kids. You’d be proud!” Then I quickly swipe at my eyes, hoping no one noticed. 

Traditions are important. 

They serve as a vehicle for passing down our beliefs and values. 

One such tradition in our family is that of hospitality. It’s never much mattered if it were a holiday or the most ordinary of days. Friends, family and strangers have sat at our tables and shared our food.

More often than not, Sunday afternoon dinners at my Grandparent’s house included a few faces that were not part of our family, and often unfamiliar to me.  I’ve watched my mother and my aunt carry on that tradition. Each of them have prepared numerous meals for countless people. Family. Friends. Acquaintances who find themselves far from family and without a place to spend a holiday. Sometimes, even strangers. 

Time and time again, I’ve watched these selfless women prepare food, change beds, and set out fresh towels for the guests they would receive. I’ve watched my dad and my uncle set up extra tables and chairs then swing the door wide open in welcome. 

And I’ve tried to do the same, simply because I didn’t know any differently. Our family traditions taught me that this is what we do. This is who we are.  We welcome people into our homes. We share in their stories and offer food and friendship, compassion and companionship, and sometimes strangers become friends and friends become family.

Often, I’ve heard my children say that one of the best parts of their childhoods were the guests who regularly sat at our table. People from different cultures, different economic backgrounds, and different traditions. 

This is the practice of hospitality. As one of the truest, purest forms of religion, it’s more than rhetoric and religious dogma. It’s love in action. It’s putting other’s before ourselves. It’s allowing our abundant blessings to bless others.  It’s life and service and connection. And in serving others, we find ourselves deeply changed. 

So when my children ask, “Mom, do we have room for one more?” The answer is always and unhesitatingly “YES!”. 

Early this morning, even before the night-time darkness had finally relented, the call came. No school today. Snow day! 

In our home, snow days have always been special, even when we home-schooled. When the snow fell deep enough that neighboring schools were shuttered for the day, we too would take a day off. 

I’d bundle the kids up and help them out the door. 10 minutes later they’d be back, wet and cold. Boots, gloves and wet clothes were shed and left in a pile by the door. Cold, little fingers wrapped around cups of hot chocolate and icy toes were stretched toward the fire burning in the fireplace. 

I’d put their wet clothes in the dryer, knowing it wouldn’t be long before we’d do it all again.  

Later in the afternoon, we’d gather around the fire and play a game or two. We’d play and laugh and I’d try to keep the peace as competitive little souls tried to learn how to lose … and how to win … graciously. 

Last winter we only had one snow day, late in spring. We didn’t know it then, but last winter, dry and warm, was a precursor to the drier summer that would result in massive wildfires across Colorado. Just south of us, the Spring Creek Fire would consume 108,000 acres, (or 170 square miles) and 130 homes making it the 3rd largest fire in Colorado’s history. 

Livestock died or were sold as ranchers struggled to find enough grass to fill theirbellies. A line formed at the water station as people were forced to haul water to meet their needs. 

I watched as the water in our creek slowed and eventually dried. A kind neighbor hauled water for our horses and calf while I dealt with a well that was struggling to produce water in these drought conditions. 

Late summer brought rain, and we dared to hope that the drought would lose it’s grip. Even then, we knew that winter would tell the real story. Rain was welcome and needed but only snow, and lots of it, could free us from the drought and it’s destruction.

Today is Halloween. Our little town will close Main Street and kids and adults alike will fill the streets. We call it Halloween Town and it’s a festive, annual tradition. Businesses and homes will offer candy, hot chocolate, cookies and cider. This year the fall decorations will be obscured by snow and winter coats will hide carefully chosen costumes. But, the cold can’t dampen the warmth of a community. People will brave the snow and cold and laugher will echo off of the mountain.

I don’t know if we will get the full 12” of snow predicted by the weather report. And I can’t predict with any certainty whether or not winter will continue to bring the snow we so desperately need. But there’s snow on the mountain and snow in my yard and sometimes, snow is more than just snow. Sometimes snow is hope.