My freshly cut Christmas tree is sparkling with tiny white lights. Every short needled branch boasts feathery birds, crystalline balls, handmade bird houses, and an odd assortment of miniature teddy bears, bells, and shiny stars collected over a lifetime. It’s gorgeous. 

Candles and strings of lights illuminate a shelf in our great room and a felted wreath hangs in between winter coats and hats on a clothes rack by the door. In the center of a table pine cones from our woods fill a donut-shaped cast-stone birdbath top safely inside from ice and snow that could threaten to crack it in two. Scattered throughout the house familiar artifacts of Christmas signal festivity.

I’ve done all the holiday prep I usually do and can’t help but notice I’ve been drawing more upon on a historical routine than my current state. Something is off. I don’t feel the sustained light-hearted joy I’m accustomed to at this time of year. 

It’s not as though it’s all been a drag. There have been uplifting moments. Plugging in the Christmas tree lights, pulling out cookie recipes and creating our year-end greeting card have brought genuine smiles to my face. And yet …

While standing in the utter quiet of the snowy morning in the middle of the trees I remembered something I had read in The Week about Taylor Swift’s wedding plans at her $32 million mansion. Apparently they “could end up splashing some $1.2 million on landscaping for the big day.” That level of wealth for landscaping confounds me when all around many are hungry and homeless.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not begrudging this amazing rock star’s fortune to spend however she chooses. That’s her business and her right … I’m just perplexed. My feet were getting cold by the time I began to understand at least a little of the gray cloud that has been hanging over me …

There’s an overwhelming amount of things I can’t make sense of as this year winds down; wildly inappropriate deportations, children with guns, starvation in the Middle East, warming oceans, divisive politics, bold disregard for the dignity of humankind. It’s a wonder I, or any of us for that matter can even sleep at night. 

In truth I don’t have to look far for the disparities between myself and countless others. I sit in a warm home with plenty to eat and more stuff than I could ever need while many are cold and stomachs are empty. A small change of circumstance or minor shift in my DNA might have me perched on a street corner holding a tattered cardboard sign.  

I assuage some of my ‘guilt?’ by creating bags to hand out to the homeless and their pets with emergency provisions. I realize that is a drop in the bucket when an ocean of change is needed. Yet, perhaps it makes a small contribution to someone in need. 

Is it possible to make things better for our fragmented humanity and the health of our planet? Or, are we destined to continually be the warring race repeating the mistakes of our forebears over and over, shattering the lives and habitats of all living creatures?

Years ago I slipped on the ice and broke my right wrist. Being very right-handed to the point of having little capacity to do much of anything for myself the following weeks were interesting. More had broken than my bones. 

My injury provoked and brought to the surface issues in my marriage needing to be addressed. The bones mended long before the rift that was cracked open in my relationship. Through excellent therapy and a lot of hard work we found our way through. The pain provided a path to healing and we took it. I wasn’t easy, it was damn hard. Love was the fuel to see the process through. 

As I look around our nation and beyond I see a shattered human family, every bit as broken as the bones that snapped in my wrist. Could it be the outdated paradigms that feed malignant hostilities must shatter before change is possible? How much worse does it have to get? And, what is the fuel that could provide the energy to do the hard work of healing? 

I do despair and wonder what the days and years ahead hold … these somber thoughts are wreaking havoc in my usual optimistic nature. I’m doing my best to temper the aching hollowness inside with strings of white lights sparkling around all the holiday trimmings. It’s no use. I’m losing the battle and reminded that ‘what you resist tends to persist.’

I’m familiar with resistance. I’ve been here before, many times actually. By now I feel I ‘should’ know that throwing my energy and willpower to overcome discontent never works. 

I ‘know’ to face into what is right before me and quit trying to put a bandaid on a gaping wound.

I ‘know’ to surrender to reality no matter how uncomfortable.

I ‘know’ to do the part only I can and am willing to do … and let it go. 

Ruminating on the horror is pointless. Sounds simple enough. If it were I’d be a master by now. But, I’m a mixed bag as I suspect we all are. The discordant inequities so obvious in the world live also inside … light and dark residing within, garishly highlighting the glitter alongside the suffering so obvious in this holiday season.

There’s a story handed down from Native American tradition about the two wolves living in each of us … one of goodwill and one intent on harm. When asked which wolf will win, the Cheyenne elder responds, “The one you feed.”