Skip to main content

The Lullaby Lull after the Excitement of Christmas


  It’s December 26th, the day after Christmas. Presents have been unwrapped, holiday hams have been eaten, and parties have been attended. Now what to do? It’s the lullaby lull after Christmas. Now we’re bitter sweetly singing, “What’s next on the agenda?” It’s as if we all have a bit of holiday postpartum depression. The excitement of Christmas has dipped and we are getting off the rollercoaster of cheer. We stand at the exit and look around to spot our next destination. 

Instead of singing a lullaby lull, sing of sweet praises. Sing of memories that have twinkled and laughter that has been sugared. But, I know, I feel a little sadness myself. It was the first time that my husband and I exchanged gifts. This was our second Christmas as a married couple.  It was funnel cake fun to buy presents for my husband. It was peppermint sweet to see the delight in his eyes when he opened his presents. The merriment trimmed his face. It’s an intimate Christmas I will treasure, like the trinket trove in our stockings. 

We scramble, literally, to bake or buy gifts. We prepare our home to glisten with glee. We deck the tree from bottom to star-lit top. Adults chime in with children’s belief of a jovial man jingling through the sky. A sense of magic carries throughout the world. Once Christmas has come and gone, the rush of jolly joy has lulled. 

It’s hard to move on from a wonderful memory day.  But, wrap up those memories in a ribboned box and open it every now and then. Make sure to print the Christmas pictures that were taken and speckle them in an album. Make sure you have easy access to memories so they can be pondered with love. 

The year 2020 is approaching quickly. God has blessed my husband and I this year and I can’t wait to see what He has in store for us next. Focus on God and give Him the future. Thank Him for the intricate snowflakes of memories. Don’t lay in the lull, but sing of blessings to come. 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Pine Heart Roots

  On a Friday afternoon, I packed the car and my mom and I drove down Sea Blue Lane.   Our destination was Pine Prairie, Louisiana.   Wheels rolled down blacktop while music notes rocked and rolled through the Malibu.   We sped through Lafayette and entered “Country Land”.   As I passed by horses, my eyes lit up with little girl joy, as usual.   Cows grazed as clouds speckled their backs.   The bayous were fading behind us as pine trees started to grow in their place.   The scenery was refreshing, renewing our minds with fresh crawfish waters.   We finally arrived at my cousin, Dana’s house and parked upon O’Banion territory.   I needed to strip my bark of “stress needles” and regrow peace around my “pine heart”.       I was feeling distant from my dad.   Year after year, the roughness I once felt on his hand was smoothing.   He is branded in my heart, but I needed that brand to be lit under fire ...

Country Bound

Country Bound I travel down a mellow, yellow sunflower road upon miniscule “wishing” pebbles.   A monument stands tall amiss sprightly wildflowers.   Rustic, red barn, tell me your wisdom, tell me your stories.   A split rail fence is my guide, built by thick, rough hands.   It dances to a patterned rhythm around a charming, pastel blue farmhouse.   I am country bound, my soul to be found. I pass by a field flowing with radiant corn.   Stalks stand tall, presiding over misty pastures.   Golden wheat is nuzzled with sunny rays.   It waltzes with the wind and tangos with blades of grass.   Hearts of farmers beat in rolling hills, growing “love soy seeds”. An apple pie sits on a crackled window sill cooling for attention.   Cinnamon swirls through a two-story house.   Maple beans, sweet greens, and cornbread overflow the Amish-built table.   Greens pop into savoring mouths.   Sugary beans candy-coat t...

Silver Knight

  Little boys and little girls around the world can be heard calling for, "Daddy, father, dad!" I must of uttered dad a hundred times a day. “Dad, can you help me with a math problem?", “Dad, can you fix this and fix that?", “Dad! There's a spider in my room!" Dads' are the heads of the household. They are spiritual leaders and advice givers. They are comforters and protectors of clans throughout different villages. My dad was the king of our Irish clan. He was a good ole' southern gentleman, so he always slipped a "hun” in his statements. He was a wonderful Christian man, always giving glory to God. He was a sound and stable oak, never bent or shaken. Fear? He did not know fear. The only fear that was fashioned in his heart, was the fear of God. My dad stood his manly ground each day, battling earthly forces.  My dad was always a detail and knowledge encyclopedia. Many times he would give me advice on how to save money (I was a...