The Ghost of Christmas Past

As Advent begins and we begin our preparation for Christmas I am deeply depressed, yes, probably as always. Depression is a miserable illness and sometimes I think the only way to meet the challendge of it is to take the risk of talking about it, as I do know.

Advent is supposed to be a deep quiet time of joyful anticipation. It is not in our home. Each year at this time the issue of money comes up with mark and we start arguments about how little the other one loves us and bring up years of injury. It is a heart killing time, and it cause us both such incredible pain. I don't know how to fix the wretched wounds which scars are ransacked with seeming glee by each of us for a little cheap satisfaction at seeing the emotinal blood flow again. Dear, lord, let this year be the end of these battles, end the heartache and the fighting; help me, and help Mark, to see what it was we loved in each other, or give us the steel grace to move onwards towards lives of love apart.

Dearest Christ Child, seek for me the humility and the gentleness and the love that seems swept away once again. Love of myself and love of my dear Mark.