by Andy Scheer
Was your every expectation met?
I love Christmas cards — especially ones that show a picture-perfect Holy Family under an astronomically impossible star. Or ones with scrubbed shepherds and freshly groomed sheep.
The first Christmas came with amazing expectations—courtesy of ancient prophecy and angelic announcements.
But the reality was a bit gritty: someone “great with child” forced to undergo a multi-day trek so they could pay taxes to a foreign occupier. No lodging meant for human habitation. The moments of rest after childbirth interrupted by a visit from people on society’s fringe.
These days, stores prompt us in early autumn to start getting ready for Christmas. For months we’ve made plans. Then the day comes. Our expectations aren’t always met.
Now it’s several days later. Time to consider putting things away and preparing for a new year — including a new year for writing. A year filled with new announcements, new expectations, and new realities.
Perhaps next year, everything will go according to plan.
Perhaps this coming year, everything will go according to plan. Not your own, but one that’s better, more sure. Like at the first Christmas.
