Everything old becomes new again. My grandmother made ceramic Christmas trees in her ceramics class years ago. She gave us one and kept one for herself. We didn’t love it but my mother dutifully plugged it in every Christmas season. Yesterday I was at the store and saw the very same trees on sale, lots of them. Everything old becomes new again.

Every Christmas season I love putting up familiar treasures, my grandmother’s tin can tree always has a place of honor. I love finding something new that speaks to me.  The constant of the season is preparing a space, a place, for the birth of something new. It is an old story that becomes new again each year.

It is an old story, a young woman saying yes to a difficult, life-changing task. It is an old story, a man agreeing to companion her on the journey. It is an old story of shepherds and angels and wise ones, of stars and struggle. Every year we unpack it and it’s a little bit different. Every year the old story becomes new again if we let it.