Taking away the festive decorations from Christmas is less fun than bringing them out. Still, it is part of the cycle, and needs to happen. Today I will put on jazzy music to keep me company, and say goodbye to each dear ornament, setting it gingerly in the cans they sleep in for eleven months. The crèche sets, too, will bid me farewell, as I nestle them in tissue paper and bring them to shelves in the basement. The stockings will get minor repairs before their hibernation, and the ribbon of cards will take its leave. 

 

But the fairy lights can stay. In these dark mornings and early dusks, the constellations on the windows bring me comfort. When I drive home after a shift at the cathedral desk, or a sewing class that ran past dinner, the string of white lights are like a line of music for my eyes, lilting across the pane. 

 

"Come in, beloved, it is warm inside. We have waited for you."

 

Having someone waiting for us is a sweet consolation for having been apart. This fall, there were a spate of memorial services for people in the community. Relatives and friends traveled, and took off work to gather in the pews and listen to stories from a life well lived. Saying farewell is part of the cycle, though we never get used to it. Maybe we shouldn't. 

 

There were also some darling babies born. Saying goodbye to a grandmother or neighbor is less fun than welcoming a fresh child, whose eyes are closed not from weariness but from absolute contentment to be in her mother's arms. 

 

I will reluctantly put the relationships that ended in storage. But one day, it will be my joy to bring them back from hibernation. Then their eyes will sparkle like stars as they welcome me. 

 

"Come in, beloved. It is warm here. I have waited for you."