It happened again this week. I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror – silvering hair braided down my back, creased eyes rimmed by glasses – and thought, I look like my mother. I sound like my mother too. One night, chatting with my daughter, who was visiting from college, I mentioned an article I’d read about the eruption of an Indonesian volcano in the early 1800s.
There’s nothing quite like reading a book about a true event on the anniversary of when it took place. That’s what happened this week as I was reading Janet and Geoff Benge’s biography, Nate Saint: On a Wing and a Prayer, with my family. Here was a Pennsylvania kid who used his love of flying and military aviation experience to serve missionaries living in a remote area of the Amazon rain forest.
It seems wrong to celebrate when the reality for so many this holiday season is grim. A month ago, my husband and I cautioned our children not to expect many gifts for Christmas. Instead, I wanted to set aside the day as a time to enjoy each other and celebrate the true meaning of Christmas. Exactly where that will be, we don’t yet know as we are in the middle of moving.