For so the children come
And so they have been coming.
Always in the same way they come
Born of the seed of man and woman.
No angels herald their beginnings.
No prophets predict their future courses.
No wise men see a star to show
Where to find the babe that
Will save humankind.
Yet each night a child is born is a holy night,
Fathers and mothers-
Sitting beside their children's cribs
Feel glory in the sight of a new life beginning
They ask, "Where and how will
This new life end?
Or, will it ever end?"
Each night a child is born is a holy night-
A time for singing,
A time for wondering,
A time for worshiping.

- Sophia Lyon Fahs

***

The church service tonight had me vaguely weepy all over the place for some reason. It was at the church I grew up in (I'm home in California for Christmas for the first time in three years - have I mentioned that?), which is always an emotional experience, anyway. The faces are different, or their older, or I don't recognize them, and the minister isn't the same one we had when I was a kid, and the congregation even meets in a different building now. But it's still my home church, and it tugs at my heart and always will.

But the weepiness came from something more than that. It wasn't the bad kind of weepiness, just the kind that means that certain chords in your soul have been hit, chords that maybe need to be hit. I've been pretty emotionally fragile lately, and again, I can't entirely claim that's been in a bad way, though I can't say it has been easy, either. But that has made hitting those chords easier, too.

Our minister said at the beginning of the service, "All the stories worth telling are pilgrimage stories." And that kicked me right in the gut. I don't talk about religion and Unitarian Universalism much here, not in specifics, but with that, and with the rest of the service, something hit me: I belong to a religion for which the journey itself is sacred and the symbol is, quite literally, a flame in the darkness. And at this point in my life, that's a very good thing to remember.

Merry Christmas, darlings.

title: My Boy Builds Coffins
canon: Harper's Island
notes: Tracey asked for a fic about Henry and Abby. I had a couple ideas as to what that would mean, but this is the one that wanted most to be written. I meant to do the other Christmas-related stuff first, but I've been itching to do this. It's unbetaed and unedited, so forgive any mistakes. Also holy crap, this got long.

( She doesn't go back to the island. )

Contrary to what the evidence might suggest, I am not, in fact, dead.

So I was being eaten alive by our holiday show -- and then started doing double-duty, working rehearsals for the next show (for which I am incredibly excited) whenever I'm not running said holiday show. I've also been pretty sick for about a week now. So while I love both shows and also love the holiday season, I am about as good-spirited as any sick person who will have had one day off in the span of December 1 through 24 can be.

(Which, to be honest, is pretty good-spirited. Being bitter about it helps, though, in a contradictory sort of way.)

Basically, I'm just postponing my Christmas cheer until New Year's. You will all be receiving tidings of goodwill and merriment then.

Also, my left knee and the left side of my ass are really hurting me from last night, when I was sitting on the bed and went to stand up but managed to miss the floor, and said knee and side of ass got all of the forward momentum that had been intended to carry me toward my desk. Well, it still did carry my toward my desk but not in the intended way. Overall, it was extraordinarily skillful.

I have over a month's-worth of questions to answer and events to recount, but hell if I am doing any of that now.

Have I made myself appealing enough yet?

ANON CRUSH MEME

This weekend I've been caught in that strange space between optimism and melancholy that I suppose could be called wistfulness. And then, sitting here curled up in bed, waiting for my laundry to get out of the dryer, I realized I needed this reminder, like I do sometimes. And I think maybe I'm not the only one right now:

Remember, the world is just awesome. The Discovery Channel says so.

I think if I keep using this icon, maybe it will become true.

title: I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm
canon: Pushing Daisies
notes: For Angie, who requested "Ned/Chuck decorating the house for Christmas." I take back what I said about the last fic -- this is the fluffiest thing I've ever written. But that's kind of a natural part of PD fic, so enjoy.

( The holiday season had never been especially kind to the Piemaker. )