We hosted three fun gatherings in four days. It was great to eat and laugh and connect with people. But I am done. Like way done.
I can tell, because now that Advent is here, I have zero interest in Christmas. Zero. Even the thought of it makes my blood pressure rise. (Oh the joys of the post-party introvert crash.)
I don't want a tree. I don't want to decorate. I don't want to bake. I don't want to make crafts. Or send cards. Or buy presents. Or go to concerts. Or do anything.
I just want to sit and stare at a wall in an empty, silent room. Alone. Eating Cheetos. For a month.
But instead, I will stare out the window at the beautiful tree in my yard, drinking in every last ounce of Autumn splendor. I will continue the rhythms of work and chores and exercise that are good for me. I will eat healthy food. (Turkey tacos and salad tonight.) I will let myself have coffee in the mornings. I will probably get a book or two at the library and read. I will hug my husband. A lot.
I will listen to Christmas music.
Last night we gathered with beloved friends to light the candle of Hope. We pondered what hope means. What makes it different from wanting or wishing? What happens when your heart is sick from "a hope deferred?" Keep hoping? Change what you hope for? Is choosing "contentment" the same as "giving up hope?"
We prayed that we would have the courage to hope, even when things are bleak and dry and sucky. That we would patiently wait for hopes deferred, and let that waiting do its work in us, increasing our faith, deepening our trust.
It was good for my soul to gather and share and ponder as we begin this season of waiting for Christmas.
I take that with me into this week.
I may not feel like decorating, shopping, or putting on an ugly sweater for a Christmas card photo. But that's ok. Right now, I feel like waiting. And that is enough.