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Almost every night so far in December, I walk past our live Christmas tree and stop.
Positioned squarely in front of our picture window, this beauty shines, within and without. Before I bend low to unplug lights, I take her in. Her soft midnight glow — the rest of the house plunged in darkness, as I extinguished our other lights just moments ago– catches my heart.
I pause, pinch off a bit of needle between my thumb and forefinger. I crush and bring it close, inhale her fir scent.
How I love that bright piney smell –pungent and sweet and spicy altogether.
In summer, I have a similar habit of crushing leaves as I walk by my tiny garage-side herb garden. I absently pluck a spike of lavender, a sliver of peppermint leaf, an oregano blossom. I roll them ‘tween fingers and breathe in their bright, crushed scent, as the pressure releases their oils, their very herb essence.
And I think, now, of how many of us feel crushed at Christmas. Crushed by hard or sad memories. Crushed by the pressures of a to-do list blossomed from November-manageable to December-insane. Crushed by our own desires to “do” Christmas better.
Avoiding the pressure seems all but impossible. Despite our best intentions, expectations overwhelm. Culture and family dictate an excess that we can’t avoid, no matter how holy our hopes.
Yet, it’s how we react to the pressure that defines our Christmas selves.
Instead of exploding {or imploding}, could we react with grace. We could look for ways to learn and course-correct. We could both ask for forgiveness and freely impart it. We could accept our limitations and imperfections. We could learn to be fragrant in the aftermath.
Just imagine what would happen if we saw pressure as a chance to allow our true essence to shine… What a sweet place our world would become.
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