Pen-demic

  Advent I have  hope  for  a new communion, not of remembrance, but anticipation, given at a table unladen of history, to join unburdened as a hungry child. To taste on Earth the  peace that lives within  the hearts of those, alone and together, who share instead  of covet and hoard. To celebrate the  joy of bringing to the table what I can, and gratefully receiving what can only come from above, the gift of life that is born again each day as a child in need of  love  and nurture, but curious as well, seeking the wonder,  the illumination, of eternal truth. John Northrip

  Box after overflowing box of ornaments. Our collection has grown to many more than can gracefully adorn our tree. My son, Cole, and daughter, Ashley, climb high and bend low to find the perfect spot to display each precious ornament while I tell each ornament’s story. There’s a pair of glass booties that family friends gave my parents when I was born, a cross-stitched teddy bear I made in middle school Home Ec that hung from my grandparents’ kitchen doorframe for years, a beaming bride and groom for the year my husband and I married, and hand-painted plaster ornaments Cole and Ashley made in preschool. Each ornament has a story and symbolizes an important part of our lives. The prime spot on the tree is saved for our annual family ornaments that we have added since my son was born. This year, as I carefully unwrapped the tissue from each ornament, I was shocked to see we already had one for 2020. I thought, “That can’t be right. We aren’t supposed to buy our 2020 ornament until C...