christmas present

congratulations, my friends, we have lived through the shortest day (and longest night) of the year!  

solstice seems a fitting time for a holiday greeting of Light and Courage.  we've been unwittingly invited, as a species, into a wintering of sorts; a push and pull between the way things used to be (Christmas Past) and a dream of how things might be (Christmas Future) and wherever we may find ourselves right now (Christmas Present, pun intended).

in junior high i had a brief foray into the world of drama as the ghost of Christmas Future.  even though my long blond hair was teased out and sprayed with glitter glue enough to hold small buildings together, i had no lines, but one word.  my job was to point stage left and say "Look!".  

it wasn't exactly the start of being an actress (although on my list of fears to conquer i do think community musical theater would be fun and feels safer than things like shark infested waters, or say, *nude modeling for a figure drawing class) but it was fun to be part of the troupe.

now that i *have your attention, a wise woman i know who has trained me in both/and thinking also introduced me to the phrase, "take a long, loving look at the real."  it is an extension of my one-word line in A Christmas Carol steadying me on the balance beam between falling off one side (bad news) or the other (toxic positivity).

to be in touch with reality without denying it is important but through the lens of a loving look that is able to find moments of shared hope, joy, and yes Light. 

having to be at an appointment early yesterday on the 21st, i got to witness a gorgeous moon rise and stellar magenta sunrise from all angles. i was technically a beauty-distracted driver, as cars whizzed by me i again found myself wanting to say, "look!" at the moon enshrined awash with pink.  i took as long a look as i safely could while navigating the morning commute.

mid-day light at the local wildlife refuge was a subtle, cooler light.  and nightfall found me burrowing into flannel sheets like a dormouse for her long winter's nap.

Look.

questions i find myself asking in the arena of courage:  do i have the chutzpa to treat myself as i would a loving friend?  can i summon my voice to say no to things that are not life-giving and find flexible, creative new ways of doing things?  what would it look like for me to take an intentionally restful pause and invite others to do the same?

this is how the light gets in, as we take a long, loving look at the real right where we find ourselves together here in Christmas Present.