When The Fog Lifts
Yesterday morning as I drove to the starting point for my early morning walk, an uncharacteristically thick fog obscured most of my sight. My eyes could not see the stoplights until I was almost upon them. I know the way, though, and I’ve driven it many times before.
Still, I had to go slower than usual so that I was not further surprised by something appearing out of the fog.
It is Thursday, December 18, 2025, as I write to you now. This morning, Hazel, our 5th grader, happily announced the date and that it meant there are only six more days until Christmas. While I intellectually knew that to be true, I had to stop and count to verify such an audacious claim. She was correct – fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective.
I wonder at the ideas I had earlier in the month. I think many of those ideas were/are good ones. But there are only so many hours in the days to come for things to happen and I am too old to sacrifice that much sleep for all of it to happen. And so now I wonder what is essential, what really and truly must happen before or on Christmas.
The answer is, of course, nothing must happen. Christmas morning will dawn on the 25th just as it always does whether I cross off a single item from my list or not. Thankfully, the calendar does not rest on my doing (or not doing) something and the days will peel off as the earth continues its rotations.
Every Christmas is a little different than the last because as much as we love our traditions and rituals – all of that is no match for the passage of time which brings new people to us and takes beloved ones away. Not to mention that some years we are staring down any number of heartaches which can make the thought of trying to fit into the cultural magic of Christmastime feel exhausting in the worst ways.
But just like I made my way to my walking partner through the dense fog, we know the way to Christmas. We have gone this way before and we will likely go there again because we live in the known and yet somehow new. And if we slow down and are still for a moment, we know what waits for us on Christmas: God, who comes to be with us, yet again.
The fog of the lists of “things to do” lifts and we can see a little more clearly that on Christmas, God showed up to that unlikely cast of characters and lived among them – and still dwells with us today. It seems to be a truth that we already know and need to be reminded of regularly: God sees us, knows us, and loves us – every last one of us.
There was no fog for today’s drive, and the sun is shining. I have pared my lists down to a more manageable (yet still a tad optimistic) length. And I have reminded myself that God’s love for me is not dependent on any list or thing I do. What a gift!
So, fog or sun, may we live in the truth that we already know: God loves us wildly, beyond all measure. And that God’s love is a gift that we can receive today and every day, even if that day is Christmas.
Blessings,
Emily
PS If you are staring down a little more heartache or just not feeling "the magic" of Christmas this year, I hope you will join us for the Blue Christmas Service on Sunday at 5pm. We can hold joy and sorrow together and God will meet us there.
