It is early Christmas morning. I am the only one awake. We have been having such a great time with my family. The month has just raced by. You know, we haven’t gone back home for Christmas in America for 10 years. The last time the kids have been back was about 5 years ago. Yeah, I know, we should come back more.
So, I watched the sun come up, laying on the floor with my family in my dad’s study. Thinking about the talks, family dynamics and the individuals. We are quite a diverse lot. I am the oldest of 4 kids. We have gone on to collectively bring 16 grandkids into the family. I want to go off into multiple tangents of wonderful and serendipidus experiences at this point but I am determined to stay on target so I can get breakfast started.
This is my thought.
At these family gathering points we contemplate family history.
We laugh and play.
We reminise and cry.
We give and receive lots of hugs and kisses.
At least in my family.
Inevitably skeletons come out to play with us. You know those skeletons most families keep shoved in the closet. Well, ours seem to like to come out and dance on the table. Some seem scandalous to us and we have a childlike giggle. We like to think of it as a knowing smirk but it always becomes a childlike giggle.
Some skeletons make us want to cry. Some make us angry.
It is the angry part that woke me up early this Christmas morning. We have a choice you know.
One of the biggest wounds in our family happened about 25 years ago. We have talked in detail about where we were and how we have reacted. The wounds still seem so fresh.
If we allow the anger to continually visit the fountain of youth we give it power over us. Power to control our lives and our destiny.
The deal is, if we are completely honest, we get angry because love has made us vulnerable.
I choose love and a life of trying to live in that love rather than to live a life of bitterness and anger.