December mornings are my favorite, sitting in front of the Christmas tree before dawn. My coffee is hot, strong, my pen scrawls across the papers of my journal. I look at the tree and see a lifetime of ornaments that remember so much. Little crafts with the kids’ photos on them from long ago, ornaments bought on trips or in remembrance or for the grandchildren. The colors behind the mountains change to lavender-pink. Father Sun is waking.

One of the first things I did when I moved here last month was to paint the image of our house on canvas. I made them into holiday cards to share the joy of our return home. I want to live a fully creative life. I want to share the power of creativity to heal with others. I am more empathetic, I think, after the experiences of the last year a half. Humbled. Broken. Put back together. My prayer this Yuletide season is for those that are screaming at God for help. Those lost in grief, or pain, or feeling trapped. I pray that all those out there in the depths of despair get their prayers answered. That they have peace. That they make it through. That a helping hand appears, however small it might be. I pray that misery be turned to awe. To enlightenment. To joy. That we will recognize when we are called to help someone in need.

I’ll get my feathers out now to greet the dawn. Combine sweet grass with tobacco, cedar, and sage in my shell and let the sweet smoke waft to the heavens with prayers and utmost gratitude.

A new day dawns, and the sun will soon return. Let our hearts fill with inspiration. And hope.