December 26. Relief.

It was a good Christmas, peaceful, pleasant. Yesterday I visited with both sons and both daughters-in-law and spent the day with extended family near home. But it was a delight to go home last night and fix a pot of turkey chili, my staple food, one I eat probably six to eight meals in a typical week. Having turkey chili didn't wipe out the fact I found myself sneaking into the kitchen for a crumb or a taste of this or that. It didn't mean I didn't realize all over again how addicted I really am, how harmful my "closet" eating is. But it was a good Christmas. And this is a GREAT day after Christmas, back at work, comfortable, unchallenged by omnipresent food.

I'll share a poem I wrote Monday night. It sounds depressed, but really, it isn't. Just realistic I think.

Christmas Eve

Why write a Christmas poem?
After two thousand years
the subject's saturated,
glorious songs by
Handel, Wesley, the bigs.
Besides, why me? I've
decked no tree these last few years.
Writing checks passes for giving
and keeps me out of malls.
It's Christmas Eve--I sit
with my computer. But earlier
I went to church, sang carols,
felt "in." And I care.
In a grinchy kind of way.
I'm thankful. For computer
peaceful nights, for people
I care enough to write
checks to. For an account
that doesn't cringe.
For God's love, as much tonight
as last night, last month, a week from
Tuesday. I'm glad earlier years
torn between competing parents
have passed, dissipated, ended.
I'm glad for hope for peace on
earth for me, for others, for
people who let go and let
God grant us glory. For the Word
that's God who gives us words.
For Grace. Thanks, God.