Generations upon hopeful generations

It’s December finally and Christmas is bearing down on us, bringing all sorts of glad tidings and a casserole dish of emotions. We deal with realities, with relatives, with things that crop up and memories of things long gone. It’s a time for tradition. But it’s also a time for new adventures and new ideas.

It’s also a season of expectation and longing, full of surprises and magic.

The other half and I are in a season of waiting. We have recently put a bid in on an older house in the next city over that was accepted. We are now waiting for all that entails with financing, inspections, costs, and the like. We have some negotiating to do since things were uncovered that could be deal breakers for us financially. We are wanting to be out with the old and jump ahead to this new. But for now, we must wait and see. We must hold on to hope that it will all work out even as we fear that we may be going back to step one.

It’s funny that the other half and I are beginning this Advent season with some waiting, some expectations, and some hope. After all, the theme of the first week of the Advent season is hope. And even though this past Sunday was traditionally NOT the first week of Advent, the tiny church I attend in my little swath of the Midwest celebrated it anyway.

Hope is keeping to the traditional, but hope also can be wishing for change. It writes the story of life, building on the dreams of generation before as it looks to new opportunities and ways of doing things.

Hope is writing our own stories too. Every trauma, calamity, heartbreak and disaster are there, reminding us of risk. But hope takes those and intertwines the bitterness with the sweetness. Our joys, our serendipities, our fortuities become chapters, their good mixed alongside the bad.

In Advent, stories upon stories are shared, bringing generations upon generations together. There is a tale that is magically woven together, strengthening the bonds of family, of friendship, of general kinship through the season. There are stories of old that are told as family and friends gather for celebration. There are memories that come forth, stirring up old arguments and opening old wounds. But there is also moments of magic and remembrances of good.

In my genealogical history (because genealogy is another one of my hobbies if you didn’t already know), there are divorces and alcoholics, strikebreakers and deserting fathers, parents who physically abused their children and tragic accidents that shattered lives. There are so many stories of sadness. There are tales of brokenness and woe.

But there are also tales of triumph. There are forefathers of cities and those who overcame adversity to carve out a living for themselves. There are women who became great characters on their own. There are stories of triumph. There are tales of love, of joy, of peace, and of hope.

Looking at our own stories, there are things we’d rather not tell. We all have our fair shares of mishaps and mistakes, bad choices and decisions we were forced to make. There are sordid stories and things we are lambasted for five, ten, even twenty years later. But yet, we each continue to press on. We each continue to write our own stories of love, of peace, of joy. We each continue to hope for better things to come and new ideas on doing things. We each cling to traditions and stories of old, using them to bring light to ourselves and the world.

What kinds of stories are out there? And what kinds of stories will we imagine?

And no matter what the story is for you right now, know that you are enough. You’ve got this, whatever this may be. You matter, even when the world says differently, and you can still hold on to that tiny flicker of hope even in the world of darkness. Make your own story unique. Blend your story into the story of life and cling to whatever traditions bring you hope. After all, generations upon generations have done the same.

Stay magical, all.

Keep writing.

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