Christmas 2023

 

 C.S. Lewis wrote, “With the possible exception of the equator, everything begins somewhere.”

I’d like to amend this to read, “With the possible exception of the equator and the 2023 Allison Year-in-Review, everything begins somewhere.” Can we all agree that opening this year’s annual conspectus with a quote from another writer is sufficient evidence that I, in fact, have no idea where to begin? Yes, let’s.

My waffling isn’t a result of having too little to share (not that anyone would complain about that… pretty sure we’d all shout hosannas in the highest if I’d just reduce this mess down to a bulleted list of high points). More accurately, the block comes from peeping back over my shoulder to see a year gone by too quickly, and simply not knowing where to look; not knowing where to fix my focus in an ocean of undulating waves. Do you ever look back on something you’ve done — raising babies, paying off a car, staying married, oh I don’t know… unloading the dishwasher without sighing heavily or whispering threats to those who loaded it wrong… again — and think, “In all honesty, I’m genuinely surprised I made it through that.”? In many ways, that’s how this year’s look-back feels. But, unlike the equator, the Allison family’s circle of influence is rather small, and so begin I must.

I planted tulip bulbs for the first time last fall. As much as I enjoy digging in the dirt, I’d never bothered with bulbs before… minus randomly throwing my sad Easter lilies into the earth around late May, mostly in the spirit of waste-not-want-not and crossing my fingers for a resurrection of life the next spring. I didn’t plan them. I didn’t measure adequate distance between or give a nod to depth of soil. Didn’t think about drainage or color combinations. The reality is, I didn’t think about it at all. I was at Sam’s for a toilet paper run, and it was either a five-gallon drum of cheesy popcorn or a bag of tulip bulbs to satiate the buying impulse. I plopped them into the cart with as little gumption as I later plopped them into the ground. And, the thing about bulb planting, which I didn’t know at the time, is that it takes no small measure of faith. Healthy bulbs, temperature, soil, moisture, squirrels… all are variables that can make or break a successful bloom. It feels like a good metaphor for this past year. In truth, we’ve thrown a lot of ideas, hopes, dreams and questionable choices into our garden, not knowing if they would eventually produce fruit. Or, perhaps even sprout.

And speaking of, our first little sprout done uprooted and left us this year. Abby completed her senior year at Fayetteville High School, graduating alongside 800 of her closest friends. Call me biased, but fighting to bloom in a crowded garden of nearly 3000 students is nothing short of miraculous. But, she did it. 2023 Color’s Day Queen. Honors graduate. And, she punched her ticket to study speech pathology at the University of Tulsa where she is now a proud member of that bold, blustering and hustling Golden Hurricane. Reign Cane! (She’s a full semester in, and I don’t believe any of us clearly understand this mascot or the implications of hurricanes in a land-locked state.) It’s been tough without her home. She’s 18, and watching her from afar is like watching tender vegetation you’ve so carefully pruned and cared for for so many years suddenly bolster, stiffening her stalk to withstand the pummeling of the outside world. But, she’s still under good care. God has blessed her with an incredible roommate; and if you’ve ever shared space with another human in any capacity, you know how noteworthy this is. Because, some little plants just don’t grow well together. But these two gals have forged the sweetest bond; and I know when I can’t get Abby to answer her phone, her roomie will dutifully track her down. We’re pretty sure she’s focused on academics, but there’s all sorts of fun foliage out there (starts with “b” and ends with “oy(vey)”) that tends to distract from blossoming grades.

Claire turned 17 in September, and is firmly rooted in her junior year at FHS. It’s a decidedly challenging year academically — and if I’m honest, emotionally, spiritually, financially, hormonally and motivationally. (And that’s just describing ME.) After four years of team volleyball, she decided to turn in her jersey; but not before team pictures were taken in August. Which means she’ll be pictured in the yearbook, and by default, claim team membership. To which I say, well-played, as FHS took home the 2023 state title. Go Dogs! Although we’ve missed watching her play, we certainly haven’t missed (not even remotely) the insanity of the game and practice schedule. It’s been such a welcome change to have uninterrupted evenings with her this past season… a whole two week’s worth, in fact! A drivers license and the aforementioned male vegetation seem to regularly lure her out of her native growing zone. Near the beginning of the school year, she secured an after-school and weekend retail job, determined to quickly post up in the real world, doing real-world things, and earning real-world money. Before which, she wasn’t sure she wanted to pursue higher education. Two weeks after which, she was dog-tired and googling “scholarship requirements.” She’s a hard worker with a tremendous heart for the overlooked. And we have no doubt she’s going to grow to do incredible things. 

In late July, we packed up the family, minus the dog, and hit the road to Breckenridge, Colorado — by way of Wichita, Dodge City, and Pueblo. Fastest route? Decidedly no. BUT, Wilson’s always, always up for a road trip, despite his endless hours traveling for work. (And who doesn’t want to have the opportunity to actually get the hell out of Dodge at least once in their life? Totally worth it. Convince me otherwise.) We enjoyed a day in Colorado Springs before we finally hit the anchor leg to our cozy mountain VRBO in Alma, just outside of Breck. Fun fact: did you know that the town of Alma in Park County, Colorado boasts the highest inhabited altitude in the United States at 10,361 feet? Did you further know that when you book a VRBO home in said altitude, you should pay attention to the altitude warning label in the listing? Yeah, we didn’t either. But, Wilson found out within six hours of arrival. He ignored his symptoms (and my encouragement to see a doctor) for two days, but ultimately our trip ended in a three-hour ER excursion and a fun, impromptu lesson on the dangers of high altitude pulmonary edema. After some oxygen therapy and a stern side-eye from the BRILLIANT nurse who instructed, and I quote, “Next time, listen to your wife,” we were sadly, but necessarily, on the road back home to our smaller, but no less beautiful, Ozark Mountains.

Wilson and I made it to the 20 year mark in May. And we had big plans to celebrate our willingness to stay together and God’s strength to make it happen. We talked of Vancouver, Ireland, Costa Rica. We considered fly fishing in Montana, seeing the change of seasons in Banff, pretending to know what we were doing in Napa. But, as with many little seeds of ideas we plant, these didn’t take root. In September, there were whispers of layoffs within Wilson’s organization, so we decided to wait on any travel plans. October and November ushered in more pronounced threats, and as of December 1, he was officially let go. He’s at peace with it. He gives me a courtesy laugh at this description of his emotional state, following up with “where ‘peace’ means, ‘deal with it, because that’s the only choice I have?’”. There are many blessings that come with such news: he’s had some much needed time to breathe (especially after Colorado), to be home, to not be driving hundreds of miles week to week. And, what he wouldn’t tell you is this is likely an answer to prayer. In the background of the past three years, he’s been asking God for direction; and it feels very much like this is the first clue as to which way to go. And, much like those tulip bulbs I planted, we maybe can’t see the growth, but we trust that there is growth.

Speaking of those bulbs, over the winter they slept in the dark, quiet earth. And with absolutely no help from me, would you believe they bloomed? They did! In the late winter of this year, hearty, green blades broke through the hard, unforgiving soil. I didn’t know when to expect them. In fact, I’d nearly forgotten they were there. But they were patiently waiting to emerge, knowing precisely the most advantageous time to bloom. And, I think there’s something there, in that life cycle of those tulip bulbs — a blind hope of the good that God has waiting, just below the surface. And as I think back on the many events of this year, not knowing where to look or where to begin, I start to realize we’ve plopped innumerable bulbs of hope into the soil of our lives. We’ve launched a child into the world. We’re striving to hold onto another one as long as we possibly can. We’ve survived senior prom, and teens’ driving, and boys coming and boys going. We’ve taken on the marital stress of replacing our own flooring. We’ve found joy and refreshment in trout fishing in Cotter, evening walks with June the black lab, and in spending quality time with people who get us… and with some who don’t. And that’s okay. We’ve invested in some good books. We’ve wrestled with some bad ones. And we’ve emerged from it all relatively healthy and well-rooted. We may not see blooms just yet. But, it’s still early. We wait in faith, and trust that God the creator holds all these bulbs of hope with such tender care, and one day, when we least expect it, this little garden we’ve planted will be a sight to behold.

So, where do I begin?

With you. With all of you, in hope.

“Not only that, but we even boast of our afflictions, knowing that affliction produces endurance, and endurance, proven character, and proven character, hope, and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” Romans 5:3-5

May your Christmas celebrations and new year ahead find you blind to doubt and fervent in hope, knowing how thankful we are to plant bulbs alongside each and every one of you.

Merry Christmas, family and friends!