The shortest day, the longest night.

It doesn’t matter what, if any, religious affiliation a person ascribes to.

It is the reality of the earth and the seasons.

And for our family, it is our most sacred night of the year.

Tomorrow, the sun begins it’s slow journey back up into the sky, where it will eventually call back the birds and the grass and the warmth and the growing season.

But tonight, it still rests, and our family gathers in front of a fire.

We will write down our wishes for the coming season and affix them to a log that we will throw on the flames.  It is a ritual of both asking and surrender.  We think we know what we want; we accept that we will continue to grow, and love and learn, no matter what we get.  We accept that we are like the water – we fall, we freeze, we melt, we sink into the earth and we rise into the sky and fall again…. And we will always flow.

Then we sit down together, and as the flames lick at the log, we move around the circle, each of us telling the other what we mean to each other, what we are thankful for in each other: daughter to parent, husband to wife, grandparent  to grandchild, and vice versa.  It’s awkward.  It’s difficult.  It’s cathartic.  It’s messy and weepy and beautiful.

We have a simple meal: a bowl of stew, a glass of eggnog.  Then we go enjoy a long winter’s rest.

And tomorrow, as the sun rises to a fresh dawn, each of us wakens knowing that to each other, we matter.  And we are ready to face the coming week of celebrations, sure in our knowledge of who we are to each other.

Before that all happens, however, I want to send my Yule greetings and gratitude to each of you.

Supporting a small family farm is neither convenient nor cheap.  But you do it.

Finding time to sit down and read and reflect on these words is equally inconvenient in a world of memes and scrolls and shortened attention spans and lengthened demands.

You do it, whether we know your face or not.

You do it, whether we can set a place at our table for you or not.

You do it, whether or not we can hug you, let you cry on our shoulders, or tell you how much you matter.

So these are my Yule words of gratitude to you:  I am so deeply thankful for your presence in our life, even if you remain invisible.  You matter.  You are enough.  You are part of something.

Blessed be.

Happy Holidays!