It's 7:30 am, and I'm supposed to be ironing my husband's shirt. Or at least having my Official Evangelical Quiet Time. Or running out to the curb to chase the garbage truck with our recycling. (We forgot again.) But I had to take a couple of minutes to say Happy Thanksgiving.
For the first time in years I have that excited-for-the-holidays feeling that I used to get. In little moments (cozied up on the couch watching You've Got Mail... the blast of crisp air that carries the fragrance of fallen leaves... nuzzled up against MM's neck with his arms wrapped around me tight...) I get that tingly feeling, "It feels like Christmas."
And not the actual (sometimes painful, always stressful) real Christmases of my life, but the magical, joyful, "I am loved, and good things are coming" Christmases that we read of in books, watch in movies, or see other people having.
I am loved, and good things are coming.
It is true. All the time. And I guess if I paid more attention, all my days would be filled with tingly magic.
But I don't. And they're not. My days are filled with lists and piles and schedules and plans that usually get the better of me. Most of the time I feel anxious or worried or fearful or irritated. And it's lame, because my life is awesome. It really is. And has been. Even when things have, technically, sucked.
So, I am thankful for these moments of magic and anticipation, and hopeful that the advent season offers a chance to meditate on this idea: I am loved, and good things are coming.