A week before thanksgiving, I’m chomping at the bit to get Thanksgiving (with all of its dreary brown and oranges, and turkey and mashed potatoes) out of the way so that I can pull out the bright reds and whites of my Christmas decorations. My treasures, my long-lost friends that twinkle with lights, effectively banning the coldness and darkness of Winter Solstice.
Each year, as my heart warms with each opened box of decorations, I vow to follow the 12 Days of Christmas, and let the yuletide season shine in our hearts, and through our home right through to January 6, the Epiphany. A day noted with bright red and crimson, light and celebration.
We’ll have the time to leisurely read the treasured Christmas stories we failed to find the time to read in the rush of Christmas; we’ll bake more cookies, and keep the Christmas carols on until Valentine’s Day.
Then, something shifts, right before New Year’s (a holiday I dread), and suddenly, I don’t want to see another Christmas decoration….ever…. again. Nothing looks quite the same. The once treasured bauble is suddenly simply: clutter. Gaudy clutter that must leave my house immediately. It’s not even January 1 yet, and Christmas has left my heart. I’m having my Epiphany right now; this stuff must go.
The nice part is the Epiphany, almost divinely inspired, does come with enthusiasm. I’m ready to climb up into the cold garage attic (beware, opossum, I’m coming up) and pull out the empty boxes so that I can fill them with my junk; and today is almost one day too late. The path to joy is now through clean, clear, clutter-free spaces.