When I reminiscence on my childhood, I remember holidays with my grandparents. My grandma sitting at the table, chopping vegetables and my mom baking fresh, heaping loaves of zucchini bread.
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It’s been a season of waiting in so many ways. Waiting for direction in life decisions, waiting for breakthrough in a hard situation, waiting for a dear friend’s loved one to awaken from a coma after a bike accident.
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You don’t need an hour long nightly ritual to ascribe meaning to the madness. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is determine going into the season what you have the bandwidth for.
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I have been searching for magic my entire life. That same magic I felt when I still believed Santa was real—
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Darron and I spent the last three weeks in the mountains of rural North Carolina where we bought a little bit of land and a tiny log cabin. This is something we’ve dreamed about and saved for, something we’ve been waiting for until the time was right.
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I can feel it already, and I’m 100% here for it. The Advent season is my World Series, my Olympics, my March Madness…
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