Thursday, December 27, 2012

Christmas Eve

I wanted to write something for you this day; something grand and special and memorable.   I thought it needed to be as such because the world has been turned on its head and I knew you and I were in search of something-- something powerful and inspiring and reassuring, something to make sense of things. Now, it is Christmas Eve and the table is set, the traditions continue and I am happy for these simple things with you.

There are times, in the day-to-day turnings of life, I sometimes feel apart,  a hug shrugged off, irritated words, misunderstandings, and I build a wall.  Though I, too, am at fault, too busy, too distracted when you call my name, snapping, the words mean-spirited and ugly.  You blame me and I you.  But, somehow we forgive, go on, continue to love in our take-for-granted way, because you and I know, in our quiet hearts, the love there in you and in me is powerful and inspiring and special and that is what makes sense, that is all that is needed.

You and I will continue to wonder about God, ask a thousand questions, but have no true answers, only faith.  Faith in you and in me and, yes, faith in God, even after the world seems so wrong, so dark, so uncertain.  This night you and I wait as the Shepherds waited, as the world waited, and you and I believe, as they believed, will always believe. . .

This night a Savior is born.

Kimberly Baker Jacovich 
(Read to my family at the Christmas Eve dinner.)


Friday, December 14, 2012

Hold your children close. . .

It seems too soon to talk about, a need to keep the sorrow inside, to speak of it rings false, as if mere gossip.  Our hearts are broken.  How many times have we seen tragedy unfold, cried copious tears, comforted each other, a thousand days, more, coming to grips, and then finally able to breathe, to smile, to believe, only to be pummeled again?  When overwrought the same words slip out, spoken through tears, "I am just tired, just tired."  I often wonder if I mean tired of this world, this life.  Chastisement ensues, knowing sorrow is not exclusive.  Spirits have endured far more, have not been broken. It is right to cry, to remember, to rail at God, at the world.  It is alright to be sad, to be broken.  We will breathe again, believe again . . . Today I am just tired.

Connecticut lost twenty children.