Carol of Joy Mixed with Sorrow

Christmas snuck up on me this year. The distraction started with the trip to Montana for Duane’s funeral, followed by two and a half weeks in Southern California, enjoying Thanksgiving with family, the birth of Eliza Joy Johnston 2 days later, and finally Oma duty, cooking for the new parents and cradling Eliza.

After Thanksgiving the holiday lights started appearing in Maggie’s California neighborhood. I found it unsettling to see Christmas lights and decorations with temperatures in the 70s.

Tonight, on my way home from my weekly temple visit, I stopped to enjoy some houses in Lexington.

  The first is my second favorite house in the world. From each window shines a candle. The first-floor windows are nearly room-length and I've always fantasized being able to walk through one into a front room.

The little girl in me seeks out the multi-colored lights of my childhood in Pennsylvania. They aren’t common in Lexington; home owners (including myself) tend to the New England tradition of white candles in each window or a spotlight on the wreath on the front door.

2017 started out as the year David wasn’t going to turn 30. On Sunday the choir  sang “Carol of Joy” by Eileen Berry. Every time I rehearsed it, I wept, and the performance was no different. Although the carol's ultimate message is profoundly hopeful, pointing to the redemption of the fallen world and the deep joy of the Savior’s birth, the lyrics' depiction of dry, withered leaves, cold, barren hillside, and death holding the lonely, fallen world fast, fills me with sorrow.

Yes, Christmas is a time of joy and my experience with death deepens my hope. But it's intermingled with  pain at the closing of the second full year since David died.

         On a brighter note, we are expecting Peter, Xiomara, and our other two grandchildren, Andrew and Victoria, for the Christmas weekend. They'll bring their stockings to hang over our fireplace mantel. I've got all the ingredients for homemade egg nog and my mom's traditional Christmas lasagna (She hated roasting turkeys. Miss you, Mom!).