In spite of pluses, Thursday messed up my mental week. I woke up Friday thinking it was Saturday and was disjointed from extra driving time on a busy highway. Then I hit a brick wall. That Thursday was the beginning of the 6th decade of Smiths at the ranch for Thanksgiving and no one noted it. Labor Day 1963 was the inaugural gathering of 16. I missed the first November grouping because I took our new baby to Louisiana. Most years after that through teen years of generation 3, a group came and celebrated. A good rallying cry. “To the ranch!”
I didn’t know Sunday had a special name growing up. Christ the King Sunday. A proper ending to the liturgical year even if Baptist didn’t celebrate, just the Sunday after Thanksgiving, an opening to slide into December. This year still had four days of November to wrap up and some appointments and commitments and pay attention to the last month on the calendar. A son-in-law did take the autumn leaf wreath down and put up greenery and a red bow as a hint of a new season.
So, on this Tuesday morning, I start looking for the door to open to continue our contact of a beginning again time. I need only minimum decorations: a small artificial tree, a few treasured creches, and a bin guarded with an angel to hold your Christmas cards. I bought poinsettias at Kroger for front porch pots. The schedule is tweaked for church and that will allow me one more year to sing with the glorious offering of music that narrates the four weeks to come, Advent. I reach out to turn the handle and open the door to Week One, a reminder that what was promised came to pass.
For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Isaiah 9:6
Let Me Tell Ya 