Christmas Letter (a bit late)

Here are a few Christmas pictures.
To my Dear BLOG readers,
I wanted to share this year’s Cameron’s Christmas Letter with you even though it already January 3, 2009. Blessed New Year to each of you. Love, Sue

For years we’ve sent Christmas letters filled with stories of our little ones, but now they have their own children with their own tales to tell. Having all of them gone from El Paso continues to be an adjustment for Craig and I, especially during the holidays. Illness hit the San Diego clan at Thanksgiving so we had to cancel our trip to see them. Faced with being alone, Craig and I flew off to the hill country of Texas and celebrated our 31st anniversary. That was wonderful. But we felt a bit sad eating our Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant (even though it was easier.) With God’s grace we are continuing to adjust to this new stage of life.

A SPECIAL NIGHT
I hang up the phone and blurt out, “They can’t come.”
My husband, Craig, looks concerned. “Don’t panic.”
“But we’ll be all alone on Christmas Eve.”
He nods. “First time in 30 years.”
A silent dread hangs between us. He beckons me to come to him, and I cuddle close.
Soon, it’s the night before Christmas. As we leave for church visions of our children dance in my head. I try to convince myself that all is well. It’s a natural part of the cycle of life. We raised them to be independent.
Craig touches my arm. “What is it?”
“We asked for this when we prayed that the Lord would give each of them a soul mate.”
“He answered us.”
“I like that part. I just didn’t figure it meant sharing them on the holidays.”
“I know.”
I’m wondering if Craig feels the strangeness as much as I do, like things are out of order. I don’t mention that I’m worried that this holy night won’t seem as special.
We share a magnificent time of worshiping Immanuel with others, but when the service is over, we head home alone.
I set our meal on the table where our little ones went from high chairs to high school to high tailing it out of our home to form families of their own. My heart trembles at the memory.
Craig takes my hand and offers thanks. That’s when something wondrous happens. It’s not as glorious as an angelic choir or as world changing as our Savior’s birth, yet it holds its own mystery. Slowly, softly, in the stillness, we smile into each other’s eyes.
Craig says, “It’s quiet.”
I nod. “It’s sort of nice.”
“The soup’s delicious as always.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”
“I like you.”
“I like you, too.”
He leans in for a kiss.
I know then that this is still and a very special, holy night. And all is well.