Christmas is a river. Specifically, the St. Lawerence River. Every year, the day after Thanksgiving, I climb in my little Christmas barrel and swing into the current. Home decorating, gift shopping, cooking and baking, company coming, reaching out to those who need it—I ride the accelerating flow of Christmas, occasionally slowing in an eddy of candle light, advent reflection or quiet carols, then back out into the whitewater of mailing gifts, sending cards, airport pick-ups, faster and faster until it’s Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Niagra Falls and we’re over the edge, down the drop…and then…about now…I pop up downstream and think…ok, where was I before Christmas swept me away? Where was I and where do I want to go?