Putting away the lights is never as much fun and getting them out. Yet, I find a strange solace it wrapping the nativity pieces one-by-one and tucking them into their box. I’m comforted knowing they will be waiting for me next year, no matter what. (Okay, unless the house burns down, but let’s not borrow trouble. We have enough of that.)

Next I take down the sparkly ornaments and let each  dangle in the light one last minute. I think again of where it came from or what it means.

When I put away the Christmas village this year, I made a startling discovery. The snow was grey on the rooftops! I hadn’t noticed that in the dim glow of Christmas tree lights this month. But now, in the brilliance of the New Year, I noticed that City Hall is as covered with sooty grime as it might have been in the real world of Charles Dickens and Mr. Scrooge.

So, I scrubbed. And, that bought me a few more minutes to remember the Christmas our children gave me Town Hall. It was symbolic of our prayers for the little town where we lived, our desire for God to bless and prosper the place. I offered another prayer, even though we haven’t lived there in more than a decade. Because, I still love the town.

Finally, before I closed the last box, I pressed the center of the star my mother-in-law crocheted twenty-some years ago. It still plays a Christmas song on demand. (We wish our cell phones had a battery like that.) And it reminds me of the years when all our children were home and my in-laws lived in our backyard and Christmas was overflowing with noise and chaos, and beauty.

I would not trade all our sons-and-daughters-in-law or our tremendous grandchildren to get those days back, of course. And, I’ve learned to love the quiet Christmas of a nest populated by two. But, even so, I’m glad the star still sings.