cronechronicler

Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte

Less Is More

This is a strange Christmas. I feel stretched by the Corona virus and diminished by the task of preparing for the Holidays. I am not up to doing all my usual decorating, though it is modest in size. I need a new proportion.

First I got out my front door decoration, a small Christmas tree in needle point with sequins and beads. It was a gift to me when I was doing an internship with a hospital Chaplain which included working with Hospice. The secretary in the unit whose name was Bob (I no longer remember his last name) gave it to me as a Christmas gift. It’s been around for thirty years. I hung it on the front door of my apartment like I do every Christmas.

Next I got out a miniature sized Santa Claus and his companion, a reindeer with a red bow around his neck. The little figures were given to me by a young woman named Ann I once counseled.  I leaned them against a potted plant on my dining room table – like I do every Christmas.

And there I had a tree, Santa Claus, and one reindeer. Everything I need for a strange, and oddly wonderful, simple Holiday.

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