Basking in Blessings

This season has snuck in again ...

lights blinking a little nervously,

memories crowding the room,

joy and grief sharing the couch

like old acquaintances who’ve learned

not to fight in public.

There they sit, eyeing each other,

checking the weight of what they carry,

grief looking squarely at what's missing.

Then joy gently whispers this invitation:

to bask in blessings.

Not the loud ones, joy says.

Not brag-worthy miracles.

Just the quiet abundance

that we often rush past-

hands curled around a warm mug,

given by a treasured friend;

laughter that surprises us;

the cat purring on our lap;

all those things that let the ache

soften so we can breathe.

Basking is different than striving.

It means staying still long enough

to notice what has already been given.

It means letting goodness land

without immediately questioning

how long it has permission to stay.

This year has taken things.

It has tested loyalties,

reshuffled plans;

it may have introduced us to versions of our lives

we didn’t audition for.

Still, joy says,

there are blessings leaning toward us

like winter light through a window,

asking only that we stop moving long enough,

to feel their warmth.

So this is my holiday wish for you, my friends:

that you would rest without apology,

receive without negotiating,

and allow yourself ... just briefly ...

to bask.

To bask in love that showed up quietly;

in strength you didn’t know you had,

in peace that sits with you quietly

as the fire glows.

May this season meet you gently.

May joy speak its truth with surety.

And may you discover, even now,

that you are standing

right in the middle

of more blessings

than you realized.