Even Scrooge Wasn't Really a Scrooge

I think I love my family most on Christmas Eve.

Or, at the very least, I realize just how much I love my family on Christmas Eve.

When I was younger my favorite tradition was the annual Christmas Eve bedtime story. Where lots of other family read Luke Chapter 2, the Durkin’s read The Polar Express. And we love it. More recently, however, my favorite tradition involves the entire family piling {illegally} into one car and driving around my grandma’s neighborhood to look at Christmas lights. We pass judgment on the houses that win the decorating awards, deciding which ones should have won and which ones should have been disqualified for loading their yards with tacky blowup decorations. We lovingly heckle the people in the hay rides. And we sing. The past few years Sister and I have almost miraculously turned this car ride into family caroling time, cajoling everyone {minus one too-cool-for-school 16 year old} into singing Christmas hymns at the tops of our lungs with the windows rolled down. The Durkin’s love music, but I would say we rarely sing out loud, because, well, we’re not the most vocally gifted family.

So as I sat in the car tonight, singing The First {and second, and third, and fourth} Noel with my family, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of appreciation. Appreciation for the fact that we’re all still together, and immense appreciation for the fact that I am lucky enough to have been blessed with a family I actually love spending time with. I couldn’t help but lean my head against the window, close my eyes, and bask in the moment, saying a quick prayer of thanks.

Tonight, after we finished looking at lights, however, my sister hopped into a car to drive down to Tucson to spend Christmas with her fiancé. And I thought about how Will was missing because he was spending his first Christmas with his wifey. And I don't mind telling you that I felt… lonely. Believe it or not, it was an unexpected feeling. I have heard more than one person grumble about the holidays this year because they have no one to spend it with and I have been counting myself lucky that I don’t fit into this category. I mean, I have my family. My fabulous family. See paragraphs 2 & 3 of you don’t believe me. So I thought I was immune to the Holiday Blues. But as I sat in the car tonight, I could not help but feel a little overwhelmed. I could not help but lean my head against the window, close my eyes, and think about him.

And I’m not talking about the most recent him, the one with the too good break up. {Although, if we’re being honest, I did think about him too.}

And I’m not talking about The Ex, the one who broke my heart in July and answered a year and a half long prayer this week by telling me he will be spending the next two years of his life serving the Lord in Des Moines. {Although, of course, I did think about him as well.}

I thought about the him I might be spending next Christmas with. Or the Christmas after that. And I thought about the him I will be with for all of the Christmas’s for the rest of my life. I thought about whether or not I have already met him. {My guess is that I have not.}

And then we arrived home, and read The Polar Express, and my mom cried, and my little brother wrote a note to Santa, and my Dad told us how much he loved the family.

And I felt happy again. And not so lonely. And now I am thinking about patience, and how it is my favorite day of the year, and how if I can’t be happy today than I don’t stand much of a chance any other time. And just like that, my minor case of the Holiday Blues is {mostly} gone. I have so much time to spend Christmas with numerous other hims.

I can wait.