My Letter to Saint Nicholas - 2021

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 My Dearest St. Nicholas,

I have sat down several times this season to write to you. Each time, my flustered thoughts lead my pencil across the page in a flurry of rantings instead of asking for blessings or being grateful for the ones already entrusted to me. Perhaps, I need to put my discontent in writing, crumple the paper and, toss it away. There are better ways than staying stuck and, for certain, there's an ache stuck in the heart of the world begging for relief. So, Santa, maybe a Band-Aid, or something that holds us all together would be a healing blessing.

My thoughts race with the rush to keep up with the pace of the season and I need to remember to slow down. That reminder is often found in the glowing lights and the scent of pine as I gently place family memories, one ornament at a time, on the sturdy branches of my tree. It is that peaceful pause that grounds me. Sometimes, the needles fall in a quiet song. Its verses rustle and breathe a poignant whisper that life is changing and aging. And my heart feels a little bare and vulnerable, too.

I'm grateful to recapture those snippets of time. Moments when the world felt safer, the worries were fewer, and my children stood on tiptoe to hang their handmade ornaments as high as their arms could stretch. I'm also thankful for, and often surprised by, the emotions that bring a smile along with a tear.

My boys are the treasure I hold closest to my heart. Like, when they were younger and I’d receive a dandelion plucked from the yard or a seashell still sandy from the beach - given from hearts that were bigger than their bodies. I saw the smile that reached their eyes and made them sparkle. My tears flowed often, they still do and, sometimes, I long to see those tiny hands wrapped around a flower again. But, my heart is happy knowing their grownup hands can carry whatever weight the world places on them. I trust their convictions will guide them and help lighten the load.

I do realize, Santa, time will forever move forward and change but, I am grateful for the pause.  Looking back (even with teary eyes that smile), on the memories that hang on my tree is the whispered song I need to hear. A lullaby that softly hums of peace and comfort and prayers for my family.

Merry Christmas, Santa! And if you could spare a tissue, to dry my tears, I could better see the many blessings that are right in front of my eyes.

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