Next Christmas Eve, I might not feel the subtle rhythm of his tiny inhales and exhales as Ford's full weight of his body leans into mine in the quiet darkness of the night. I might not laugh at his tiny squeals as he bounces on the floor attempting to crawl to his desired object; or delight in the first solids he so confidently holds to his mouth as a wide open smile bursts across his face. I might not dance party with Jack to "Santa Clause is coming to town" every night as he repeatedly (read: a million times over) asks for "Chawlie Bawn Cissmas" or "Polar Efress." I might not hear his favorite sayings then as I do now - "Hold you Mommy," "Guy reading Polar Efress" "Close door wittle bit" "Watch a tiny show... Maybe we can do that?" "I love you, Mommy" "a little twreat?" "Why did I say Poppy Stick?" I might not be physically exhausted by the end of the day from breastfeeding, soccer in the park, chasing a two year-old, coaxing a crying baby back to sleep at night, and holding the baby with one arm while simultaneously helping Jack climb the ladder on the playground.
Next Christmas we might not wear masks to the Christmas Eve service, or wait in lines around the block for last minute gifts at Target, or talk about the "crazy unprecedented state of the world." Our conversations will change, our daily rhythms will be different, and our boys one whole year older. Christmas sometimes feels like it will be frozen in the time it exists right now; but the truth is that it will look different. When I close my eyes, I can remember the Christmas of my childhood, going to sleep with Raffi's Christmas music circling in my head, the anticipation of Santa the next morning and trying to spy on him bringing gifts down the chimney. I remember the Christmas of my teen years, bringing with it the letdown of expectations, the striving towards making it feel like it used to, and grieving the loss of transitions I didn't choose; the Christmas of college with the nostalgic feeling of Home for the Holidays and the rest that comes with breaks from finals and roommates and sorority life; the Christmas of my 20's with the longing for a partner, the wondering of who I will share this season with and the distraction of swiping on random dating apps following the tears that come with broken relationships; and now - the Christmas of our sweet little family, the wonder a young child brings to the day and the delight in recreating those traditions we once held so dear. Every season holds its differences, its uniqueness, its own memory from the year.
Though traditions will live on and more church services attended, Christmas will remain a marker of "this time last year" - and year to year to year, it will look different than the previous year. I don't know how our family will grow, what ascents and descents we will walk, what transformation lies ahead; I don't know what we face politically, financially, or economically; I don't know the future of cultural topics or what kind of interests will carry into our kids' Christmas lists or if we will ever be the family that gifts our kids a puppy for Christmas (spoiler alert: we will never be that family!)
But this year, I am more confident than ever that all will be well. I recently finished The Book of Longings and though I devoured every bit of it, one quote in particular stood out:
"When I tell you all shall be well, I don't mean that life won't bring you tragedy. Life will be life. I only mean you will be well in spite of it. All shall be well, no matter what."
If we can survive a year like 2020, surely all will be well in spite of the future circumstances. God came to be with us. That's the beauty of Christmas - God WITH. He came here, entering as a human, choosing to walk among us. He is Emmanuel. He is here with us; all will be well.
