Heart Cracks

 The Christmas letter has been put to bed, off to the printer. and writing it has engendered all sorts of decidedly un-Christmasy emotions.

Christmas letters evoke plenty of different feelings from those who write and receive them.  They are the subject of parody since the basic template tends to skew toward a yearly recitation of the author and his/her (and let's be honest here, it's predominantly her) family's highlights, bypassing any lowlights.  Not that families don't have them but the archetype just doesn't support same.  It's much easier to chronicle how wonderful 2023 was as opposed to even mentioning those events south of the life's border.  

I always attempt to be at least somewhat self-deprecating in our Christmas letter, choosing to include what might not be considered typical photos, avoiding a highlight reel of the children's and grandchildren's greatest accomplishments.  And yet I am excruciatingly aware my letter is stuffed to the gills with our lives of privilege.  

This year, as I sat composing at the keyboard, I asked myself how could I even consider writing a Christmas letter when the world is such a hot mess?  One of the friends who was included in the mention of those who visited us in Florida is a sixteen year old from the Ukraine, whose hometown of Odessa is bombed on a regular basis, whose father and brother have to remain indoors for fear of being conscripted into the army, whose family was extorted in order to send her to Minnesota.  My heart cracks.  While we had a wonderful time with our friends Jeff and Jackie in New Orleans, the picture I'm taking away from that city is not of Cafe DuMonde or Bourbon Street or the Garden District.  It's a young man sleeping on the street with his dog curled up next to him.  My heart cracks.  Though we appreciated the solemnity and respect demonstrated at Normandy, war and atrocities rage on throughout the world.  We have not yet learned our lesson.  My heart cracks.  I included an admonition for people to vote, then today heard that Donald Trump, four times indicted, is running virtually neck and neck with President Biden (and frankly I would hope that the President would have found the good graces to SIT DOWN but then who in the Democratic party would STAND UP) in Minnesota.  Minnesota, of all places!  My heart cracks.

So yes, the letter is in print and I'll keep on figuring out how to fill those cracks in a way that is visible, tangible, makes a difference to those for whom it needs to make a difference. I'm working on it.  That feels like the clarion call from the heart crack.



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