"So you can take care of what matters in life." This is the last line of a Dutch Christmas ad that has crossed my Facebook feed a couple times. The sentence stuck with me.

The ad itself tells a cute story of family and regaining strength. The disparaging looks from neighbours as an old man works out are priceless, a reminder that when we judge other people, we have no idea what is going on for them. The advertisement is for a mail order pharmacy, the kind of service we have all been using this year, although I don't remember seeing any medication in the ad. Just before the screen that names the company comes this reminder to take care of what matters in life. This reminder felt both grounding and saddening at the same time. I needed to take some time to unravel that mix of feelings.

Any other year, I would be spending this week getting ready to feed and house fourteen people for a day and a night. Christmas has been the time when we all gather, when we have a chance to catch up with the whole gang. We've all felt that it matters to get together, to reconnect with everyone. That is not going to happen this year.

Zoom will get us as close as we are going to manage. The time is now set for us all to get online. And one of the grandkids is working on an online game that we can play together. One of the traditions is a game after Christmas dinner. For some years, it was team scrabble. Lately, it has been something the grandchildren brought. It is good that this tradition will be continued in this new format.

One of my traditions has been to have an Advent wreath at home. The four candles mark the time of preparation and waiting, with a fifth lit on Christmas day. This year, I shared this tradition with my congregations, sending little Advent wreath kits home with them.

We are spending so much time at home. So many of the activities we went out to closed down. And it feels forced as again we head into lock down. Yet, as we shifted from the insanely busy rhythms of before, there has, for some people, been a kind of ease. Again, unravelling the mixed feelings seems to me important. The Advent candle lighting provided such a moment to stop and think about spirit, to ponder the presence of hope and peace, joy and love at home. It is too easy to focus on what is not. Stopping to acknowledge what is feels important.

But I am also aware that unravelling the complicated feelings is easy for me. I've been working right through this time. I've had meaningful tasks and an income. Even as I retire at the end of the month, I have a decent pension coming. For so many, the worries have been intense. How do you get out from under the fear of eviction, the rumbling of hunger?

In this Covid time, all the organizations that provide food are more important than ever. It had not occurred to me until I heard a CBC report that the food drives that fill the cupboards of food banks are not happening this year. I've been getting the mail requests for donations, and I am still not going to grocery stores, so I haven't noticed that the usual methods for donating to local agencies are not there. Not noticing is a privilege.

I'm not going to beat myself up about what I have not seen or done, but I will make an effort to support the local organizations who help those without enough to eat, those who are homeless. Feeling guilty is also a privilege, one that helps no one. Giving is an act of recognition, both of the need and of what I can do.

As I mentioned, I am retiring. People tell me that there is a mix of feeling that comes with ending a career. I take it there will be a tangle of enjoyment and loss to unravel as I step into a new pattern for my days. I suspect that it will be helpful to remember to order my life in a way that lets me take care of the things that matter.

Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway

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