What if we aren’t ready for the holidays?
What if we aren’t ready for the holidays?
On the deeper sort of preparations
How do I describe my innate response to People on the Internet beginning decorating for Christmas the day after Halloween? Frustration? Eye-rolling? But also, something deeper. Sadness? Isolation?
Am I the only one who has no interest, I thought, in monkey-barring from one holiday to another? And what about Thanksgiving? Are we just skipping it?
Perhaps I am a Scrooge for wanting to linger in this liminal time when leaves are still falling and nuts are piling, when farmers markets are still teeming and winter is only whispering of its coming. The call I feel to transition this time of year has far less to do with home décor and far more to do with something inside of me. (Though, if you’ve already decorated for Christmas, we can still be friends.)
This time of year, I can feel the holiday seasons mapping onto one another, layering like the pages of a calendar. My mind keeps comparing how much heavier it all felt last year and the year before, how much lighter I feel now. I am thankful for the passage of time, even if it feels in other ways like it’s gone too quickly.
If you have lost a loved one around the holidays, perhaps you know the feeling. Even if your anniversary of loss is another time of year, we know the holidays can tenderize the bruise, reminding us of those who are no longer at the table or around the tree.
Thanksgiving has become, for me, a poignant rehearsal of my mom’s memory. Three years ago, we spent that holiday walking her through her final days and hours. She died the Saturday after. But that’s not the only reason it makes me think of her.
I was in high school when Mom called me down one Thanksgiving morning. “It’s time to learn how to make a turkey,” she said with far too big a smile for 7 a.m. I got the sense she was going to enjoy this more than I was.
A few minutes later, I was elbow-deep beneath the skin of the bird, rubbing sage butter into every corner of its meat. I groused about how gross it was, to be this intimate with poultry before breakfast. Do I really need to know how to do this? I thought. Why couldn’t Mom just always make the turkey?
But, by my first Thanksgiving as a newlywed Navy spouse, I was grateful for the cooking lesson. A group of us whose spouses were deployed over the holiday got together for a pressure-free gathering, trying our hand at many of the dishes for the first time on our own. Mom’s bacon-draped, maple syrup-basted, sage butter turkey came out perfectly for me, and I’ve made it most years since.
This Thanksgiving, when I get elbow-deep under the turkey’s skin to do what my mom taught me, I will laugh at the memory. I will tell the kids that my mom made me do this starting in high school. “But I’ll give you a head start if you want to try now.” They will grimace and then grab the butter and start rubbing anyway. I will wish I could tell mom about it. And I will be grateful for the good—the way our bodies can participate in this memory of her that will become a memory of theirs.
I’m learning how very okay it is to welcome a mix of emotions to the holiday season. To see the sorrow that can turn to joy over time not as an interloper but as an invited guest. I love how this holiday of cooking gives me something to do with my body while my mind wanders through three decades of memories. I feel how time is aging these memories into something I can enjoy now rather than dread.
Kind of like Mom’s cranberry sauce. The woman loved cranberry sauce, and not from the can. She would get bags of fresh cranberries and turn one into a predictable sauce, the other into something new, like Grand Marnier-orange cranberry relish. And, more than once, she would forget both of them in the fridge until halfway through the Thanksgiving meal.
“Oh well!” she’d say. “They’ll be good on turkey leftovers.”
Now, we joke that we should make one cranberry sauce just to leave in the fridge for her. But after discovering a new cranberry sauce recipe last year (it uses brown sugar and cardamom), I can’t imagine leaving it in the fridge on purpose. It seems to encapsulate the taste of this time of year for me. I savor the bitter alongside the sweet.
Bittersweet. Both-and goodness. That’s what I’m after this holiday season.
PODCASTS 🎧
Speaking of the holidays, I was on a podcast with two of my pastors this week talking about holiday traditions. I mentioned why I like sticking to the Advent calendar and how it primes us to long for Christ’s coming. We also talked about Santa, my beloved turkey and why Little Women is the best Christmas movie. Listen here!
I was also on the Women & Work podcast recently talking about my day job as a journalist and giving a glimpse into the book! What a treat to talk to these friends about two things I rarely get to mention in the same space. Listen here!
A GIFT FOR A FRIEND 🎁
The holidays can be full of fresh losses and grief for people in your life, and for you. Maybe a coworker is facing a parent’s new diagnosis, or a friend is finally ready to process a loss she’s been outrunning fo
r years. My book, We Shall All Be Changed: How Facing Death with Loved Ones Transforms Us doesn’t come out until Feb. 6. But I’ve made a way for you to gift a preorder of the book to a friend in need this holiday season.
Preorder the book—at Amazon, Watermark in Wichita, ChristianBooks where it’s on sale right now or any retailer. Be sure to put in your gift recipient’s address or your own if you can give it in person come Feb. 6.
Then reply to this newsletter (or email whitpipkin@gmail.com) with your order number or receipt.
I will send you this coming week a Free PDF for printing or emailing to your friend (or for yourself) called Receiving Christ’s Deep Care in Seasons of Grief. I’ll also send a note you can forward or print for your recipient. It says someone is thinking of you this holiday season and has preordered this book for you with an image of the book.
ONE EASY THING
Want to know one easy thing you could do right now to spread the word about the book? If you’re into GoodReads, you can now mark the book We Shall All Be Changed as “want to read” in your account. Just click “Want to Read” under the image of the book at this page and GoodReads will also notify you when the book is available.
If you’d like to review an advanced copy of the book, please email me at whitpipkin@gmail.com and I will see what I can do!
With you this holiday season,
