photo taken last year while wrapping gifts at my parent's kitchen table
These past weeks have been a bit rough for me. Don't get me wrong. I love Christmas in Germany. For real. Visiting the Christmas Market and baking Plätzchen and drinking Glühwein. Christmas with Waldi's giant family. Hanging up the paper star in our window. Taking part in Advent services and celebrations. It's all good- great even.
But the truth is that all I really want is to go home for Christmas. No amount of DIY gifts, or decorations, or singing German carols is going to make up for this. I want to go home. I want cookie baking with my mom, decorating the tree with my siblings and trying to guess what my dad (the best gift-giver) got for everyone. I want cinnamon buns on Christmas morning and the crazy games my family always ends up playing after dinner, with the soundtrack to Charlie Brown's Christmas on repeat.
And to be honest I'm mostly just writing this because somehow it makes me feel better to say it out loud. To admit that while I'm here, hanging our hand knit stockings, lighting the candles of our advent wreath, and trying so hard to be present, where I really want to be is there. To say that, although it's hard, we'll be bravely celebrating anyways. Because it's Christmas and I don't know the cure for homesickness. And because there is still much to celebrate.