This Christmas series is brought to you thanks to Book Riot’s Literary Advent Calendar. It’s a combination of poetry, short stories, and essays. I’ll be posting every day, some days twice to keep up with my regular posts. Click the story title for the full text. Now, let’s get this Christmas show on the road!
Guess who forgot to write yesterday’s Christmas post? This girl, right here! The show must go on, however. So today I’m picking up at #9.
Christmas is that time of year where we allow ourselves to believe in miracles. Small mercies and little surprises that make the season glow with the combined anticipation of everyone who participates of it. We want to believe that we can be redeemed, cleansed under the falling snow to reemerge someone kinder and more capable of love.
The protagonist of this story had such an opportunity. He was surprised out of poverty and the brink of death, only to stumble back into the arms of a family he’d thought lost to him for good. The Holiday season is one where we dare to hope for something better. We hope that the Grinch or Scrooge in our life will see the error of his ways. That come Christmas morning their hearts will have grown three sizes. That they will love us better, love us finally.
We also hope for ourselves. Little miracles that seem small compared to the feat that is making a heart expand. Song after song, begging Santa to leave cushioned boxes full of love under the tree. The wrapping paper concealing so many possibilities. Schrodinger’s Christmas. Except we open the box, we find sweaters and batteries for toys we don’t play with anymore. And we’re still the same people. And all that hope was for nothing.
But every year we open up our hearts to the possibility of more. We hope. And believe. And approach the tree with our hearts on our sleeves. Looking for love in all the wrong places.
I hope you find the love you’re looking for this season, readers.
Have a good one!