It is time.

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It has been hard to write this entry. Things have happened. Time has passed. Mattea was baptized. We travelled to Canmore to visit friends from Mexico for Thanksgiving.

We made a trip to Alberta in early November to honor the death of a beautiful woman who died far too young. Judith’s death has left me feeling sad and vulnerable, grieving not only her illness and death, but also the loss experienced by her husband Jay and baby son Ole. It has left me feeling bruised and broken. Fragile.

 I have hidden behind time wasting internet games, trying to dull the ache. And then, emerging into the light and hope of the Christmas season, we have celebrated with family and friends the gifts we have. The time we share, the hope we cling too, the light that enters the darkness. In the darkest, shortest days of the year, we gather around tree filled with light and celebrate life, celebrate the days growing longer even in what feels like the dying season of deepest winter. 

We are blessed. We are sheltered by love, we are showered with abundance. I asked that our gifts would be those that would bless other people. I received seeds for home gardens in far away lands, and gifts for children being cared for away from their homes. We gave water as our primary gift, diverting the money we would use to buy gifts and giving to those who would not have access to even clean drinking water.

And now it is time to return. To shake off the excess of  food and drink, to shake off darkness of the deepest days of winter, and to return. To return home, to return to routine and quiet (as much quiet as one can have with three kids). To return to projects and activities, to return to daily life. I hope that in our return, we continue to feel surrounded by the hands and hearts of the family that sustains us, that nourishes us and that holds us dear, as we do them. And I hope that in our return, we can continue to be thankful for the clarity of vision that surrounded all of us on Christmas morning, when we looked at one another and sat momentarily in wonder at how blessed we all are, and how that blessing has little or nothing to do with our stuff, and everything to do with the people in our lives that bring us joy, and for whom we can do the same.

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3 responses »

  1. thank-you for this honest post Anno. your words on loss, aching, darkness, light and hope were poignant. the family picture (minus mama as is often the case) is stunning, so many lovely faces. blessings of light and hope on you in the new year. love, Aimee

  2. You are a gifted writer Anno, and I appreciate your openness and honesty about the loss of your friend.

    And that shot of your family, what a terrific blessing they must be to you!

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