Joy

Welcome, anybody who's new, and thanks for stopping by. Thanks also to those of you who liked that last post enough to link to it. Please say hi if you're so inclined.

I have a confession: I'm often cranky in December.

Much of it is seasonal affective disorder, because the amount of sunlight in my life has a predictable effect on my brain. (I have a light box but I have trouble finding time to sit in front of it.) Some of it is seasonal expective disorder (I made that one up), arising from all these messages about what Christmas should be like for my family and me (chestnuts, sleigh rides, steaming cocoa, carefully wrapped presents that are exactly what the recipient had hoped to receive).

The idea of Advent as a penitential season, in which we reflect on the growing darkness and the coming light, speaks to my soul. This post was sparked by Linda's first comment and by a reread of a post about Santa from my old blog. (I was going to post it here but it is a little too mouth-frothy. Maybe I will edit it.) Those two things made me wonder: am I trying to spiritualize my own grumpiness? The fruit of the Spirit is still joy, even for people with SAD, even for mothers of five with untidy houses, even for dissertation writers who are feeling overwhelmed by structural equation modeling.

Today, Gaudete Sunday, I am going to set aside the cranky to the best of my ability. I steeped saffron overnight to make beautiful golden St. Lucia buns. (Does that sound like good planning? It was not. I meant to let the dough rise overnight in the fridge but was summoned to bed by a cranky baby. I left the saffron steeping instead of leaving the dough rising.) I am going to serve them to my family and pray for eyes that see the light of God in all circumstances. I am going to teach them to sing today's first reading.

And you know, it's not going to be Hallmarky. I expect they will think the buns are a little weird. They might ask for toast instead. I expect the two oldest boys will sing reluctantly, though they may be enticed into clapping their hands by the baby who loves to clap. I'm not going to stress out about their reactions, because it's harder to find joy if you're looking for approval. But I do believe there's joy here, if I will give it room to flourish.