Christmas Storm!!

I still find it unnerving to wake in the night to a thundering roar. It sounds like a freight train has been re-routed five feet away from my bed or that a 747 has landed on the roof. "What!?!?!" I think.

And then I remember that I live near a most amazing lake who will sometimes come up and roar for a couple days at a time.

Early on Thursday she was very loud. Several times I went down to the beach just to look at the enormous waves and see how far up they came. During the afternoon you could hardly walk on the beach because the waves came all the way up to the tree line.

Cozy in front of the fire, knitting, sewing listening to A Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols from Kings College Cambridge, but always with this roar underneath it all. Forty eight hours and no let up at all.

Christmas, snowed in, pondering the mystery of such a great lake, and pondering the great mystery of God choosing to live amongst us.

Peace on Earth...

I think back to years of holiday frenzy--parties,

shopping, making and wrapping presents. Oh and cooking, baking, taking kids to plays, concerts and pageants. Not to mention getting cards out and presents for anyone vaguely associated with the family. And then there was the mall and traffic. By the time we were within a week of Christmas, I felt frantic.

Which may help explain why I love living in Grand Marais during this season. We did have some folks over for dinner the other night and we sang for awhile. A group of women chatted about Christmas past and that pressure. I went to join some women I've come to admire for a holiday gathering. But mainly, I've been slowly making some presents, walking in the fresh snow, and watching the big lake. I listen to some seasonal music on the radio.

I find myself thinking, "Yes, this is how it was meant to be: a time of pondering, of slow beauty, and deep dark nights. Of stitching and praying for someone as I knit or sew. This is how Christmas is meant to be."

I've got to wonder how society has taken such a season and made it so painful and frenetic for so many.

I'm so thankful to be in a place which invites this pace, this waiting, this silent expectancy.

Brooklyn Bridge: Sort of different from Grand Marais

Last week I got to go visit my little granddaughter Esme in Phillie. We decided to take an overnight jaunt to New York City on the bus. We walked a lot: over to see Uncle Steve's office and have lunch with him, to Macy's for a look at the windows, and then down to NYU to meet up with Auntie Anna.

Then we decided since it was such a lovely evening, to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. We saw all kinds of wonderful views of the skyline. But my eyes were really for my little Esme, watching her watch all those things--pointing out boats that are not canoes, sparkly lights in the buildings on the skyline.

Here we are: Auntie Anna, Esme and I
on the bridge. I find myself feeling so grateful: Esme and Anna are new in my life and yet I love them so much.

Brooklyn Bridge and Grand Marais are similar inasmuch as both are filled with wonders for eyes that can see. Love is everywhere!