[on the phone]

Caller: What was your name again?
Me: Eileen
Caller: Doreen. That’s pretty. That’s my daughter’s name, too.
Me: …Oh. Thank you.




It’s Christmas Eve. The lights are turned down low. The refrigerator is humming and rice maker is steaming. Stan is taking a siesta on the couch by our twinkling tree. Quietly snoring. I have a mud mask on to soothe an angry, red pimple. I’m about to make a simple dinner after having heavy Indian food for lunch. We walked around the nearly empty streets of Wicker Park earlier this afternoon. It was brisk and sunny out. Tonight, we’re going to a late showing of Mission Impossible and most likely indulging in some overly buttered popcorn. I’m going to see if we can stop by the gas station for gummie bears.

This is definitely a change in the way I’m used to spending the holidays and celebrating Christmas, but it makes me smile all the same. Tomorrow, we will celebrate the birth of baby Jesus. Tonight, I feel the gift of his Spirit in the world.

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!


Instead of bronze I will bring gold,
and instead of iron I will bring silver;
instead of wood, bronze,
instead of stones, iron.
I will make your overseers peace
and your taskmasters righteousness.
Violence shall no more be heard in your land,
devastation or destruction within your borders;
you shall call your walls Salvation,
and your gates Praise.

Isaiah 60

For NK.