Decking the Halls...

 It's our tradition.  Every year, when it's time to put up the tree, we make it into a party.

We have finger foods, 

 snacks,

and Christmas music. 

We sometimes eat more than we work. 

 And that's okay.

 Because, (as Jared is demonstrating in this picture) decorating can be overwhelming.

But eventually the tree goes up. 

And the lights go on. 

And some years, when we're lucky, they actually WORK and I don't have to make a trip to the store to get more. 

 Everyone has their favorite thing to do.

 Some like to assemble the tree.

 Some like to pretend they're choking to death to provide comic relief from the stress of decorating.

Some like to hang the ornaments. 

 Or make sure the lights are spaced just right.

 And some like to manage the whole affair.  Wonder who?

 Everyone has their favorite ornaments, as well.

All of them are special. 

 Most of them have a story.

 These were mittens my older boys ACTUALLY wore when they were babies.

And these are the handprints from those sweet little hands. 

 Here is the ornament I always make sure *I* get to put up every year.  My sweet Katy.

 And these were the shoes I wore when I was a baby.  The moose is the hand and foot prints of my once-littles and their artwork of trees and reindeer and hats and candycanes.  It is less of a decoration and more a collection of keepsakes, our tree.

 And this year, we've added Chuck's seashells.

 Alas, the finished (for now) product.

 Atop the armoire is Chuck's nativity along with the framed print of my brother's wise words as a backdrop for the wise men who looked that night at the babe who became the Savior whom Chuck now sees face to face.  And this year, more than ever, I'm so glad for the babe in that manger.  For the sweet hope that first cried in the hay.  How grateful I am for that baby hope--that tiny would-be Savior who loves those I love even more than I can.

 Old jars with winter scenes on the shelf of the hoosier my honey gave me just 'cause he loves me so.

 Soldiers guarding hope and peace that I so desperately need every day.

And stockings ALL hung by the chimney with care. 

 Traditions.  Stockings from our childhoods.  His.

And mine.  And all of ours.

And a little boy too tired. 

 Losing patience with the too-long day.

Looking forward to bedtime. 

Waiting for rest. 

Needing comfort. 

Wanting peace. 

Like all the world. 

Come, Lord Jesus. 
We all are waiting, sometimes with joyful anticipation,
but sometimes too tired and out of patience, like my sweet tired boy,
 needing the peace only you offer.