Frohe Weihnachten

Christmas morning.

I am currently drinking a cup of coffee and eating a large German Christmas cookie. From the window behind me, I can see vineyards, the Black Forest, and a dozen houses that are at least 200 years old and look exactly like what you are picturing in your head right now.

I’ve been thinking a lot about home and tradition in the past 48 hours, because in that time I have experienced several significant things that were new to me while I would usually be at home doing the exact same things I’ve done every other year of my life. Usually, I’m not the type of person to get homesick. Everyone in my family has always been adventurous and ambitious, so ‘home’ is really more that feeling of support and relationship that we take with us everywhere than a physical place (although we have lived in the same house my entire life). But two days ago I felt the overwhelming weight of 3 months of homesickness flood down on me all at once, because… well, I won’t bore you with all the details of how a roadblock with a pretty easy solution caused me to have a minor panic attack in the middle of Roma Termini station. But when I realized that I had booked one leg of my next journey for the wrong day, all I could think about was how my brother and two sisters were at home with my parents, where it was snowing and the house was filled with the scents of fresh pine needles, wood burning in the fireplace, and perfectly spiced wassail simmering in the crock pot. They would be wrapping up gifts in brown kraft paper and ribbons, listening to Fernando Ortega, Vince Gueraldi, and Sufjan Stevens, and lounging on the couch reading their respective books.

Ok, so this post is starting to just turn into my nostalgic ramblings. But the point is that when your heart is in a place like that, the last thing you want to be doing is taking two wrong busses and getting lost in Rome (although getting lost in Rome under different circumstances can be quite enchanting).

After this unexpected extra day in Rome, I finally made all my connections on the journey to a small village in Germany. Let me add that my spirits were raised considerably by what I saw out the train window. Half of Italy sped past me under a soft blanket of fog, and don’t even get me started on Switzerland. The Alps are unreal and I’m seriously considering spending the rest of my life in Spiez (purely based on the scenery).

So here I am, in Germany with a family that had the same great-great-great-great grandfather as me, and I am experiencing their Christmas traditions. We sang German carols by the tree last night (which I sung very quietly and mumbled through the words) and feasted on fondue and wine (and then later on kirschwasser) from their vineyards. There’s something incredibly charming about being welcomed in to share in something special with people who you can barely communicate with.

Traditions are so important. Christmas is so important. When I told people that I was not going home for Christmas this year, their reactions were either “I could never do that!” or “you’ll be fine, it’s just another day”. I’m so glad that I’m experiencing another way of life, but not because it’s just another day–it really isn’t. And it shouldn’t be. Everyone’s traditions are different and maybe you celebrate the night before or the day after, or New Years, or another holiday altogether. But the one thing that’s universal about this season is that it holds everything that is good in this world. It is all about valuing love, family, warmth, deliciousness, and laughter. And for many, it holds the promise of our faith. So wherever you are and whoever you’re with, I hope that you are indulging in all those silly traditions and putting aside any petty differences to love one another. There’s really no other soul food like it.