It's Christmas 2015, warm but rainy here in Georgia. The day started with such joy, as I heard the kids whispering with excitement in the living room at 6 o'clock. Stella made the coffee, and then the four of them rang their bells outside our bedroom door to wake us up. Opening presents was a blast, then lots of family came over with more presents, and then we ate super delicious vegetables and played with our new toys. I took a brief nap, followed by a brief walk, and now I'm damp but comfortable in the post-Christmas living room mess.
Different lyrics from different Christmas songs stick out to me each Christmas, whether it's realizing that Baby, It's Cold Outside is about date rape, making a joke about donning our gay apparel, or watching in wonder at the kids' "eyes all aglow" as they prepare to go to bed on Christmas Eve. On my walk this afternoon, I was thinking about the words "a thrill of hope" from O Holy Night. I was thinking that I sure would like to feel a thrill of hope.
I have so much to be hopeful about. I successfully completed my first semester of nursing school. What was a faraway dream will be a concrete reality before I know it. I'm engaged to be married to a wise, loving woman who is a true partner and witness in my life. Our kids are so thoughtful, smart, fun, creative, and joyful. They are going places - interesting places where they will solve problems, lead others, create art, and experience the world. Hope!
But no thrill of it. I'm thrill-seeking.
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