People either love Christmas letters or they hate them. Mine started years ago, mostly as an outlet for my writing at a time in my life when I was rarely writing anything anyone would actually read. It became a fun personal tradition, something I did for me more than for anyone else. Now, several years later, when around the first of December I start getting questions about my yearly Christmas letter, when it will be out and what it’ll be about, I’m delighted to find that others seem to enjoy reading my letter as much as I enjoy writing it.
I mail out letters and hand them out to my church family, but, unfortunately, sometimes I miss people. I’m notorious for tossing my Christmas card list every year and having to start from scratch again the following year and someone always ends up being left out. My sincerest apologies.
But that’s why I post my Christmas letter here, so anyone I may have missed can still read what I have to say and know that, whether it arrived in their mailbox or not, my letter is written with love and with wonderful wishes for every reader for Christmas and for the year to come.
single present. They had the slowest coffee maker in the world…
Christmas cookies where my mother was concerned. Honestly, I don’t know that refrigerated cookie dough was ever allowed inside our home, but it certainly was not permitted at Christmastime! Mom’s Christmas cookies were the old-fashioned, time-consuming, made-entirely-from-scratch variety. And when the dough was thoroughly mixed and rolled into a thin sheet on the kitchen table, my brother and I would use the Twelve Days of Christmas cookie cutter set that was reserved just for this special occasion. Most moms would likely have scooped up the Partridges in Pear Trees and the French Hens and the Maids ‘a Milking, popped them in the oven, and called it a day, having done their motherly duty. But not my mom! No, after the cookies had been baked and cooled, we also painted them in a
dozen shades of powdered sugar and water “paints” Mom meticulously stirred together one-by-one.
may not have been properly washed after use with a paint tray,) then we’d fight over who had the green and who accidentally mixed red in with the yellow and then I’d cry when the leg broke off of my Piper Piping, just like it did every single year.
on every inch of a little girl’s heart and mind and memory. And I’m so glad she took advantage of the opportunity to do so!