This is Christmas?

 I sit in my same morning spot.  It looks different this morning.  I'm usually staring at a black square of window, trying to squeeze in some quiet time, before sleepy-eyed children shuffle in to ask about breakfast as the the school day begins.  But today, the sun is streaming in.  It's nearly nine, and they are all still tucked into bed.

You really can't beat this view...roses by the window, heavy, full blooms nodding in the breeze.  Tall pine trees, arms outstretched framing the view of our sleepy little village, a collection of brown-tiled roofs and green, weathered copper pipes.  It's picture book perfect.  The vineyards that roll down the hills toward the lake have been trimmed back for the season.   Dipping and curving in neat rows, they carry an air of order and refinement that permeates the Swiss countryside.  Where the vineyards end, still-green swaths of farmland are cleanly split down the middle by the thin highway that runs parallel to the lake.  From up here, the lake looks more like a river, a blue-gray ribbon stretching as far as the eye can see in either direction.  Across the lake, the lights of France still twinkle in the shadow of the mountains.  Layer upon layer of purple peaks criss cross each other in imperfect triangles.  Above the jagged ridges, sits Mont Blanc in stark, white contrast, as if God began to build a snowman and stopped halfway through.  

As my vision zooms back in, my attention is drawn to the pink rose bloom dancing just outside the window.  How is that even possible?  It's December 25 in Switzerland.  Shouldn't there be snow?  Holiday music is playing on my phone, but it certainly doesn't feel like Christmas.  I remember this feeling.  I felt it in Singapore, where we celebrated a few hot, sticky Christmases, tossing marshmallows at each other in the kitchen (our Singaporean snowball fight) and swimming in the pool in the afternoon.

It makes me think...What is Christmas?  Is it the decorations?  I hope not.  Some are still in storage in the States.  Some of the sweetest ones, handmade on paper or wood, have been destroyed by the mould that grows in our storage area here.  One of the saddest holiday moments I ever experienced happened this year when I went to wipe off a preschool picture ornament, and Parker's entire face was wiped away in one swipe of my thumb.  Even Jack, who generally doesn't concern himself with decor, commented on the sad lack of Christmas decorations this year.  So, I hope it's not just the decorations.

Is its the gifts?  If so, Christmas is cancelled.  There is no 2-day Amazon in Switzerland.  I began ordering gifts for the kids at the end of November.  Some have still not arrived.  Since shipping here from the States is prohibitively expensive, family members send money electronically, and I do my best to buy gifts, but it doesn't always work out.  Or the kids want something electronic (game credits, gift cards, etc.), so that doesn't leave much to open under the tree.  

Is it Santa?  Nope.  Since Caleb learned the truth about Santa, and the tooth fairy, and the leprechauns, and the Easter Bunny last year [a sad year, indeed], the Christmas magic was missing this year.  We couldn't even locate the Elf on the Shelf in our mess of mouldy decorations.  I filled the stockings last night before the kids even went to bed.  Jack, in desperate need for tradition and magic, baked cookies for Santa.  And Caleb ate them.  Just sad.

I read the news last night before bed - never a good idea.  Thanks to the war and destruction, Christmas is cancelled in Bethlehem.  Really?  Really, world?  

So, if the decorations and the gifts and the magic are gone...if the very place Christ entered the world is destroyed...why bother?

Because, thankfully, Christmas is bigger than all of that.  I think the early Christians were pretty brilliant the way they hijacked the pagan solstice celebrations.  They didn't let the fact that Jesus wasn't born December 25 stop them.  They let the natural gift of light wash over their weary souls, a predictable, annual promise of warmth and hope to remind us of the love of the One who made us.  Though my faith has shifted and morphed in many ways over my lifetime, I still believe.  I believe that there is purpose in this annual reminder of God's love.  

Even when everything looks bleak - war, poverty, hunger, disappointment, pain, fear, uncertainty - the light enters.  Every year, there is the darkest night; then the light comes.  It's more certain, more reliable than a Swiss clock.  

So today, I celebrate the light.  I will allow my eyes and heart to open to the gifts set right before me.  I will hold them close, breathe them in.  I will savour the smell of their hair, the sound of their heartbeats, the press of their soft cheeks.  Even the dog hair on my sweater.  I am covered in love and light today.  It is a Merry Christmas, indeed.

Wishing you all a light- and love-filled holiday!

My Weird European Life

 We have a station wagon.  Let's start there.  It seats 7 people (our family plus one more skinny-tushed individual).  The two little boys, now ages 9 and 11, climb through a flipped down seat in the center of the middle row to reach the back row.  One might wonder:  Why would such a large family choose such a relatively small car?  Why give up the comforts of a minivan?  One day I will write a sonnet for my old mini-van...luxurious spacing, cupholders galore, enormous trunk, removable middle seat so I never had to hear about the injustices of sitting in the back row.  But back to now...We chose this car because the parking spaces here are teeny tiny, the public garage height requirements are super-low, and this car was available when we needed one.

Next oddity: My kids have mandatory ski camp each year.  Yes, they have to go away to ski camp and learn to ski because that is what you do in Switzerland.  I don't know if the local schools have such a requirement, but the international schools do.  Come to think of it, the local schools likely don't have that requirement because the locals learn to ski when they are 2.  Not even  kidding.  Smallest skis you've ever seen.  But back to this morning...We extracted ourselves from our clown car station wagon, pulling out all of the backpacks and extra luggage skiing requires.  I may have been [definitely was] muttering some swear words under my breath as I attempted to dislodge Jack's skis and poles from between the seats.  Good bye kids, have a great day!

I headed for my annual exam.  Which I haven't had in 2 years.  Because finding an English-speaking female doctor who is accepting new patients in Switzerland is akin to finding a unicorn.  But I finally found one.  And I got in!  In my broken French, I bumbled my way through the receptionist's greeting, was lead down a maze of hallways into an exam room, and was fairly sure the nurse told me to get undressed.  It's too bad the support staff didn't speak any English.  Luckily, I was right, as she didn't bat an eye when I started to disrobe.  Speaking of robes, there were none.  She just handed me a towel.  Awkward.

After my exam, I realised I was very close to the garage that had changed our car's oil.  This ain't no Jiffy Lube.  You have to take make an actual appointment (in French),  take it to a real garage, and leave it there.  For an oil change.  Recently, our car has been making a terrible noise when I pressed the brakes.  Clearly it needed some work.  I tried to reach the bi-lingual leasing agent for weeks to help me set up an appointment.  He's ignoring my emails.  So this morning, I decide to take a chance and head to the garage.  

After playing charades with the receptionist, I was directed to an English-speaking technician [cue the Hallelujah Chorus!].  Let me stop here.  I realise I am sounding very negative about the French language.  I am trying y'all.  I take lessons every week.  I listen to the news in French.  I have a French conversation group on Monday mornings.  It's just plain hard.   Back to the car...The dude takes a look at my wheel well and tells me I need to leave it with them to fix today.  It was in such bad shape, they didn't want me driving away.  That's good news and bad news. Great that they can fix it today.  Bad news that I have no ride home.  It's one degree Celsius, and I don't have a hat or gloves.  I hadn't been expecting this detour.

I walk to a tiny train station, buy a ticket on the Swiss transport app, and wait in the freezing cold.  The tiny train takes me to the big train station in Nyon, where I call Aaron to explain what's happening and cross my fingers that he can give me a ride.  Nope.  Full day of meetings for him, but I could pick up some coffee while I'm in town, he tells me.

I walk to our favourite cafe for the beans and some very late breakfast.  Sitting alone in the bustling cafe I catch snippets of conversations in French and English (it's a popular spot for expats).  I'm alone but don't feel lonely.  It feels so strange to be riding trains and walking through cities and surrounded by foreign language and feel okay.  That's when I realised, this is my new normal.  As strange as it is, this is my home for now.

I finish eating and head back to the train station where I ride into a town called Rolle and catch a bus to my village.  The last walk is up the big hill, winding past the old chateau and the vineyards.  The wind is whipping my hair around my head.  Reaching our drive, I check the mailbox and come inside.  

I don't even fully understand why I felt compelled to write this today.  Maybe because I think deep down we all have a desire to feel understood.  My life here is so different from the one back home that I guess I worry I may never be understood.  That when I want to share about what's going on here, it is not for the sake of complaining.  I'm okay.  It's just really weird sometimes.  And it's even weirder when it starts to feel normal.   That's all.