A Tuscan Christmas

Talking to my dad once about my arrival in Spain last year, he commented on how it can be difficult to remember the strength of the emotions felt during certain experiences. Hindsight tends to temper the intensity of what we felt in a moment. In the context of blogging, we talked about how I had never written about my first day in Spain. "In the moment, the feelings are so strong, it takes all your mental energy to deal with them. But when you look back, seeing how everything worked out, it lessens the feelings of displacement that you had at first." I think of that as I consider writing about Christmas away from home. I have a different perspective on it even now as I look back on the day then I did this morning and maybe I'm still too close to the moment but another hour plus surfing the web holds little appeal and I so I will attempt to work it out in writing.

It was surreal to wake up this morning and remember to say "Merry Christmas" when it only marginally felt like it. As I was stumbling through my morning routine, the church bells outside rang continuously. "I heard the bells on Christmas day...." played in my head. I've never heard the bells on Christmas day before, I thought. And the song continued, "the old familiar carols play," and that's where it would stop. There was nothing familiar about these carols. And back and forth it went between the bells, the song, and the confrontation with unfamiliarity.

Before going upstairs to initiate the team celebration, I searched for "King's College Choir" Christmas music, a family standard, on youtube. One of my favorites, "Once in Royal David's City", came up and I loaded it up to play. I didn't realize it was the first track on the Christmas album we've listened to every Christmas morning for as long as I can remember. The morning's activities appeared dreamlike in front of me even as tears filled my eyes. We're gathering around the coffee table in the living room for breakfast. Gwen's going gaga over Stollen, dad's getting coffee, all us sisters are still a little sleepy. I see pajamas, mom's sweater and scarf, dad's Christmas socks. I feel the rich anticipation of the unfolding day. I hear the clack of the coffee cup on the saucer and the clank of the spoon as it stirs, but mostly the King's College Choir. And then it was interrupted by those darn bells.

I was alone in the kitchen as I listened and I decided to let myself cry for the duration of the song. I knew it wouldn't do to mope all day, but I needed a minute to remember and think about my family and be both happy and sad. Happy because I have so many beautiful memories and feelings evoked by the song and the day but sad because I missed living them once again with my family.

My moment was again interrupted by Laura coming in to ask me a question about breakfast. When she noticed my face, she came over and embraced me. "Oh, honey," she said, "it's going to be okay." I didn't want to explain that they were as much tears of happiness as loneliness. I don't know that it mattered so much. Getting caught with my guard down and letting myself be comforted was, well, a bit difficult for me, but it was energizing to be held in the midst of a period in which I experience so little physical touch and there was something unexpectedly strengthening about being vulnerable.

A little before three, Laura and I set off for Florence. Normally, we make the trip by bus, but there weren't any running, so today we took the train. It's a nice way to travel, train. Especially on a low traffic day like today. With a set of four seats to myself, I spread out, put some Christmas music on my iPod and watched the world roll by. It was very peaceful and I didn't fall asleep at all during the hour and forty-five minute route, but I could hardly tell you a thing I thought about the whole time. I was just sort of in a relaxed daze. I watched and listened and just let myself be.

When we arrived in Florence, Laura and I were both hungry so we ordered some food and sat down to a Christmas dinner I never in my life expected to eat: McDonald's. I spent forever deciding between a chicken sandwich and a hamburger and then finally realized upon sitting down and having chosen the chicken that I missed the chance to participate in my family's tradition of beef fat and grease, though the potatoes were mighty yummy.

It's easy to acknowledge with your mouth that celebrating Jesus' birth is the most important part of your Christmas but it can be a difficult thing to remember when you're away from all the other things that normally make it special. In fact, just in general, being away and in a challenging situation makes you really evaluate the veracity of the statement "all I need is Jesus." On a regular basis, I discover the many ways I would answer the more-accurate-for-me statement, "All I need is Jesus and ________." I really did want to make my Christmas about Jesus, because the other things that make it Christmas for me were absent.

I recently read The Five Love Languages and so I've been thinking about the ways I give and receive love and how that affects my relationship with God. I suspect that one way in which I strongly feel love is in quality time--just being with loved ones. Actually, on the train ride to Florence, I asked God to just spend the time with me. I didn't necessarily want to talk, I just wanted to be. I'm almost apt to think of it as not being an adequate encounter with God, but if I enjoy spending time that way with people, why not also with God? After all, I have His word hidden in my heart and He, being privy to my thoughts, is excellent silent company.

I'm not sure whether to say that Christmas was or wasn't what I expected. I described it to a friend as a lovely day but one in which the the things missed were always felt. In the end, I'm still counting my blessings. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.