Christmas Eves Gone, Christmas Eves Coming

Blanket pallets strewn across my sister's floor. Sweet whispered prayers to Jesus in the dark, each individual, each unique. That certain anticipation and excitement about the coming morning dancing in our eyes. This one tradition we treasured. This one tradition understood. 

I still remember the sound of my brother's baby boy, boy, teenage, man whispers on this special night. I close my eyes and hear my sister excitedly asking us what we thought would be waiting for us under the tree. We looked to her for affirmation in our prayer requests and our childish hopes. She affirmed us the way an oldest sister only can. No matter what stage of life we found ourselves, what age we were, what trends we tried to follow, what friends we tried to impress, all pretense ran away from us on that night each year. We came just as we were and prayed just as we could. And nobody laughed at the other. Each word hid away in our hearts with reverence. 

I sit here as a twenty three-year-old woman on Christmas morning at 11:00am. This year, the first year, that neither my brother or sister are home with me to pray and to anticipate. No one home this year to wake up and run down the stairs trembling with curiosity and happy hopes. Yet, I am happy. I swell with the memories of that one kept tradition that never got old. That one kept tradition that we never regretted keeping. 

I thank God. My heart sings full. 

In transition we are. In continuation we are. New families starting, new futures awaiting, new additions coming. Tears do not quite seem appropriate when thinking of days gone and memories past. All I have is joy. Pure, unspeakable joy.