Inspire

Your Story

Of the numerous tasks undertaken during the holiday season, none is more time-consuming than the annual Christmas card. Each year, I plead, beg and bribe my sons to sit still and smile in a “normal” way, peruse hundreds of templates showcasing picture-perfect families on which to upload my photo, and feel nauseated at the thought of addressing and sealing countless envelopes. My mother bemoaned this chore when I was a child, and more than once senselessly excused herself from it because a relative had died during the year, and she felt NOT sending out Christmas cards was a critical part of the mourning process. 

I empathize of course, but each December, as I sit down with a glass of wine to stuff and stamp a mountain of envelopes, I am intensely aware that my Christmas card list embodies my story. With every name and address I write, the chapters unfold: Christmas afternoon as a little girl eagerly awaiting my cousins’ arrival, the days of high school and college, my time working as an editor, the years with my husband Adam, the many dear friends that fit so seamlessly and purposefully into my story and the wondrous, albeit bumpy journey of three little boys to young men. The bitter-sweet memories make this task not only bearable, but necessary at Christmastime. Each year, addresses change, names are added and sometimes sadly taken away, and the story continues. 

6 Comments

  • Barbara

    You are so gifted…you Express so beautifully what most of us are thing but in beautiful prose.
    Keep it coming.
    Your mom is a riot.

  • Chris

    So beautifully said. It is a task I don’t love because getting my children to pose for a picture is more difficult as teens than when they were toddlers. However, I love receiving cards from family and friends and recognize if I stop sending, they may stop sending to me. You always provide such inspiring words. Thank you.

  • Christina

    Thank you for this truthful article. A task I no longer need to dread. Each Christmas the memories bring happiness and sadness as I address the envelopes, but how blessed am I to be able to still hold these memories. Thank you.

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