Christmas traditions are beloved by nearly all of us, many of them heartwarming and sweet, many of them nudging us to lean into the season and time with family and friends, many of them holding gilded potential to sweep us closer to the Truth of the season.
Something about the Christmas season urges me to reflect, to pray, and to write poetry. From holiday stories to steaming mugs of hot cocoa to the Nativity scenes resting quietly on my mantle, the entire season is ripe for slowing down, for thinking and hoping with a catch in breath. And the beauty of it all is only a smudgy silhouette, a faint glimpse of the truest joy that birthed the whole of Christmas. I hope this little Christmas alphabet poem, with its scattered literary references, can bring you a little glimmer of happiness today.
I pray the remainder of December is a blessed season for you all, dear readers of Lucy’s blog. May the peace of Christ reign in your hearts through the end of 2023 and always.
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“Always winter, never Christmas,” they breathe, afraid, but the Lion’s breath whisks in the hope of spring.
Books, hushed in wrapping paper, waiting beneath the tree
Christmas breakfast, given away and gifted back in love
Dried citrus, strung on coarse twine, circling a room with fragrance and cheer
Emmanuel, the babe who came and grew, died and rose, ascended with a promise and is with us still
Father Christmas, bringing healing cordial, a bow and a horn, and a burnished sword and shield
Ginger and cloves, scents wrapped into cookies and candles
“Humbug,” brushed and warmed away by “God bless us, everyone!”
Ice skating
Jim and Della, with a watch and satiny tresses traded away in love
King of Kings, author of the story
Letters from J.R.R. Tolkien, slipped to his children during the holidays while his fatherly eyes twinkle
Mint and cream, smooth in cocoa
Nutcracker Prince, protector and guide through the wondrous Land of Sweets
Ornaments
Puffed sleeves on a sky-blue dress, one yearned for and shyly but bravely bought
Questions and despair in Bedford Falls, New York, but then second chances and the epiphany of a wonderful life
Red and white stripes spiraling a candy cane, the melted sugar carrying a profound legend (and the legend is true)
Star of wonder, clear and cold, beaming the way to the Truth in a manger
The Polar Express
Under a pile of blankets, curled up with novels and tea
Vince Guaraldi, gracing the world with “Christmas Time is Here,” “Skating,” and more soft piano jazz
Whoville, stripped of its baubles but not of its joy
Xenon coursing through television and radio tubes, sending carols and films into homes everywhere
Young eyes, reflecting candlelight and awe
Zest from spiced cider and oranges, sparkling on the tongue
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Amelie Johnson is an aspiring author, new editor, voracious reader, and awestruck holder of the grace and love of the King of Kings. When she isn’t engaged in various literary endeavors, one can find Amelie gazing at the stars, baking muffins, crafting lists, or playing the Lord of the Rings soundtrack just one more time. Hailing from the American Midwest, Amelie also loves theology, chocolate, tea, hoarfrost, redemption stories, and, of course, Christmas.
To connect with Amelie elsewhere, visit her Linktree: https://linktr.ee/ameliejohnson.
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