Vespers and remembering what its about
Last night, I went to Vespers at Mount Holyoke. This is a tradition here on campus that dates back to the late 1800s. The chorale, glee club and jazz singers put on a show that was so wonderful. They were accompanied by three percussionists, two piano players, a flutist and string bass. The opening of the evening had the entire chapel in darkness, only the circular stained glass window was lit, 2 of the singers lit the advent wreath candle and so quietly from out in the atrium... you could hear the voices of the singers. As the volume increased, two by two, they walked the aisle, each holding a single candle. It was so lovely. It was something I certainly needed and I think my parents felt the same way.
Christmas 2008 sucked. It started out with these thoughts which still ring true. And then there was the 2007 "dog on the run" event preceded by a serious plumbing issue. Of course, right before this day... I was thinking about my mom's gift to her children and grandchildren: a lifetime of happy Christmases. I would learn that this was her way of honoring her own father's memory and his love for the holiday. That he passed away only a couple of days before Christmas is one of life's cruel mysteries.
Christmas season 2007 started off with my coming to terms with JP's diagnosis and finding a way to "be." I finished that post with this:
And now we say goodbye to it. And we move and we breathe and we love each other. We forgive. We look ahead and shrug it off. Because we're Currans. And that is what matters.
The comments on the post speak to me now more than they ever have. Go ahead... read them. I'll wait here. I look back and read the optimism and the love from my two sisters and my mom. We seem so, so.. untouched by events to come.
In 2006 I wrote about my father singing. I wrote about how much hearing him sing would soothe the soul and take us back to simpler, more innocent times.
Last night, I got to hear him sing again. Christmas songs too. And there, in a stuffy church, in the heart of a cynic and a questioner... I got a little of that back. A tiny taste of what it felt like two years ago at this time. In my heart, I knew he was listening with me. I knew there are quite a few angels around us and this time it felt more like peace than pain.
Here's to it friends. Here's to making it great for the kids like my mom did for us and her father before her. Here's to the madness, the food, the shopping, the presents. All of it. Its never a perfect day no matter how hard we hope for it. Its about rolling with the punches, taking stock and saying thanks for every little bump along the way. Its about picking ourselves back up and finding our way together when the bump is more of a mountain and the valley is more of a canyon. Its being able to let go and let God, whoever he may be to you.
This year, I just want our day to be happy. I want to remember with a smile, or at the very least shed a few tears and then do the smile thing. I have no aspirations or great reflections about 2009. We survived. We're here and we're all doing better than we had ever thought would be possible. We're stronger. We know a little more about important things and understand a little less about worrying the little things. Perspective. That's what we have. Perspective.
And from my perspective... its beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Christmas 2008 sucked. It started out with these thoughts which still ring true. And then there was the 2007 "dog on the run" event preceded by a serious plumbing issue. Of course, right before this day... I was thinking about my mom's gift to her children and grandchildren: a lifetime of happy Christmases. I would learn that this was her way of honoring her own father's memory and his love for the holiday. That he passed away only a couple of days before Christmas is one of life's cruel mysteries.
Christmas season 2007 started off with my coming to terms with JP's diagnosis and finding a way to "be." I finished that post with this:
And now we say goodbye to it. And we move and we breathe and we love each other. We forgive. We look ahead and shrug it off. Because we're Currans. And that is what matters.
The comments on the post speak to me now more than they ever have. Go ahead... read them. I'll wait here. I look back and read the optimism and the love from my two sisters and my mom. We seem so, so.. untouched by events to come.
In 2006 I wrote about my father singing. I wrote about how much hearing him sing would soothe the soul and take us back to simpler, more innocent times.
Last night, I got to hear him sing again. Christmas songs too. And there, in a stuffy church, in the heart of a cynic and a questioner... I got a little of that back. A tiny taste of what it felt like two years ago at this time. In my heart, I knew he was listening with me. I knew there are quite a few angels around us and this time it felt more like peace than pain.
Here's to it friends. Here's to making it great for the kids like my mom did for us and her father before her. Here's to the madness, the food, the shopping, the presents. All of it. Its never a perfect day no matter how hard we hope for it. Its about rolling with the punches, taking stock and saying thanks for every little bump along the way. Its about picking ourselves back up and finding our way together when the bump is more of a mountain and the valley is more of a canyon. Its being able to let go and let God, whoever he may be to you.
This year, I just want our day to be happy. I want to remember with a smile, or at the very least shed a few tears and then do the smile thing. I have no aspirations or great reflections about 2009. We survived. We're here and we're all doing better than we had ever thought would be possible. We're stronger. We know a little more about important things and understand a little less about worrying the little things. Perspective. That's what we have. Perspective.
And from my perspective... its beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
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