This year, for the first time ever, I won't be home for Christmas. No waking up on Christmas morning to the same nostalgic nods from Dad, or the gourmet breakfast spread from mom. My sister and I won't be tag-teaming "playing Santa" to retrieve thoughtful gifts from under the tree. No, where I'm going, I don't even know if pajamas will linger from morning until mid-afternoon per my family's age-old tradition. I won't wake up in a familiar place, or plod around in my slippers in rest-my-bones comfort. I am giving up a good bit to gain something new and altogether foreign. I will share in the traditions of another family, a drastically different and far away place. Heck, where I'm going, there may even be a bonafide White Christmas—something I have never known apart from Christmas specials on cable. I'm thrilled beyond measure to be walking into this and a for a million other things, a season of unknowns. But let it be known: with every new and welcome change comes a thousand small goodbyes. A look backward and a pensive pause produces gratitude for the perfect rhythm of God's timing. He is working it all into good.
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