A Christmas story for you :-)

Dear friends,
a while back I wrote a little Christmas story that I hope will give you a few minutes of reflection. I hope you enjoy reading it :-))))
Wishing you a Merry Christmas, Steffi


LOST

I wrung out the mop, draped it over the bucket, and hauled the unsightly ensemble out onto the patio. The rag wouldn’t dry—it would just freeze stiff, but that was only temporary. If there’s one thing you can count on in northern Germany, it’s a slushy Christmas. You know the kind: that unappetizing slush in dark gray and muddy brown that turns nice shoes into not-so-nice shoes, conjures up mud monsters out of freshly scrubbed holiday kids, and feels right at home in the family dog’s belly fur. Only to then make its way from the fur straight onto the freshly mopped floor… and there we are back with the mop.

I closed the patio door behind me, cast a scrutinizing glance at the tree, tweaked a candle here, rearranged a feathered angel there, adjusted a plate on the dining table as I passed by, and left the living room. I stopped in the entryway and listened into the house. It was quiet—absolutely quiet. I’d shooed my husband, the kids, and the dog out of the house hours ago so I could clean, cook, and take care of whatever else needed to be prepared before the arrival of my parents, in-laws, brothers, sister, nieces, and nephews this Christmas Eve. I looked at the clock. Half past three, and I was already done—a whole hour ahead of schedule. An hour before my husband, the mud monster, and the muddy dog would come home, three hours until the relatives arrived. I thought for a moment. A whole hour. A bath? Bed? A book? Or should I keep cleaning—surely there was something else to do? My gaze fell on my winter jacket. A walk. That was just the thing to clear my head.

A little later, I reached the forest that surrounds our small town on two sides. I hesitated briefly. Twilight was already setting in; I thought of the wild boars, which in the cold season gravitate closer to the forest’s edge with its feeding grounds and which had given my jogging friend an uncomfortable night in the tree stand last winter—then I shook off my concerns. I just wanted to do a short loop on the main trail; no wild boar would dare come near. One step, then another, and already the gray twilight under the trees enveloped me, though the path still lay before me like a bright ribbon. My heart sank briefly when a dark figure came toward me, but it was just a jogger—thank goodness, with no man in black hot on his heels. I greeted him friendly as he hurried past; for a brief moment I could still hear the splashing of his footsteps, then I was alone again. The path was part of my usual walk with the dog, so I didn’t pay any further attention to my surroundings but let my thoughts wander here and there. A luxury I hadn’t allowed myself in recent weeks—the days had been far too tightly scheduled. This hour just for me was a reward for having planned everything so wonderfully, for not having overlooked anything, for not having forgotten anything. A gift.

A sense of unease came over me. A thought took hold of my mind with all its might: I had forgotten something after all. Something extremely important. But what was it? No matter how hard I racked my brain, I couldn’t figure it out. With my gaze fixed firmly on the ground, I quickened my pace, as if trying to catch that fleeting thought. There was still time to make up for what I’d overlooked and leave nothing to chance on this perfectly planned Christmas Eve. I hurried through the forest faster and faster, barely able to wait to reach the edge of the woods again and get home, because by the time I got there, at the very latest, I would know what was still missing. A fallen tree blocking the path forced me to stop. As I climbed over the trunk, I paused. That tree hadn’t been lying there yesterday, and no storm had struck our region since then. I looked around. It was almost dark, but I could still see enough to know that I didn’t recognize this corner of the forest. Not the woodpile straight ahead, not the slanted spruce leaning wearily against a beech tree, and not the weathered sign right behind the fallen tree. I started to feel uneasy. Where was I? Unsure, I stepped up to the sign and shone the flashlight app on my phone on it. The sign looked ancient, a marker long forgotten by the forestry department. Lichens and mosses had overgrown large parts of the cracked wood and the hand-painted, faded lettering. I stretched and held my phone closer to the wood. The first letter was clearly a “B,” the second an “e.” I brushed the lichen aside. A double “T.” Frantically, I scraped away the last bit of moss. Horror crept up my spine.

Bettina. The sign unmistakably read “Bettina.” My name. In my own handwriting. The creak of a dry branch made me spin around just as my phone flickered one last time and went dark. The battery was dead. With terror hot on my heels, I stormed off through the forest’s silence, which suddenly felt anything but still. Everything was rustling and crackling; a startled bird let out a cry—was it its death cry? An owl swept past me, and in the distance a dog barked. Or was it a wolf? Do wolves bark? In my panic, I kept running, farther and farther; the road narrowed into a path, branches reached out for me, and childhood fears consumed my entire being. Eventually, my flight came to an end because I simply couldn’t run anymore. Leaning heavily against a tree, I gasped for air; brightly colored spots danced before my eyes. I no longer had the strength to run away.
My headlong flight had led me to the edge of a small clearing. The moon was in its first quarter and shone just brightly enough to provide light without outshining the hundred thousand stars that dotted the night sky. I held my breath; rarely had I seen such a magnificent sky. It was as if the firmament had dressed up festively for a very special night. And finally, I understood. Christmas Eve. If the birth of Christ wasn’t a very special evening, then what was? Amid all the hustle and bustle, the weeks meticulously planned down to the last detail just to make sure everything was perfect, I had forgotten the real reason for Christmas. I had forgotten Jesus, forgotten God, forgotten the message of Christmas. And I had forgotten myself. I had lost myself.

A fox darted across the clearing. It sniffed the air, raised its head, and looked at me for several minutes. Then it continued on its way, its fur a grayish-red in the moonlight. Fascinated, I watched it until it passed another sign and disappeared into the underbrush. I trudged through the ferns toward the sign. Another signpost, just as weathered as the first, and once again I could make out my name, but it no longer filled me with fear. I followed the directional arrow until I came to a fork in the path, where another sign pointed the way.
With every signpost, my heart grew lighter, and my steps became more buoyant. An unconditional contentment, the kind I hadn’t felt since my childhood, filled me. Contentment and that trust in God that I had lost as an adult. The signs had lost all their eeriness, for they were showing me the way back to myself.

Later, I often wondered how long I had been walking on that magical evening. It seemed like a long, endless night to me, but when I returned home, hardly more than an hour could have passed. My husband and the children had just arrived; the entryway looked like a battlefield. Mud everywhere—the dog and the kids were ready for a bath, and my husband didn’t look much better. He looked first at me, then at the devastated entryway. ““I’ll clean up in a minute,” he said, the resignation in his voice unmistakable. “There’s still time.”
Without taking off my shoes, I rushed over to him and threw myself into his arms, laughing.
“Yes,” I said. “There’s still time. But not for cleaning—for the four of us. Let’s light the candles, snuggle up on the sofa, and read the Christmas story.”

What a lovely story! Thank you so much!
Merry Christmas! Ruth

Dear Steffi,
there’s nothing more beautiful than imagination and stories. Somewhere in them, you find yourself.
Thank you for giving us this Christmas story.
A Merry Christmas to you and your family.
Warm regards from Petra

Thank you, Steffi, for this wonderful story. Merry Christmas to all of you here!

Warm regards
Ingrid

Hi Steffi,
wonderful—absolutely wonderful. Thank you so much for this little Christmas story. And yes, you’re right: slowing things down a bit and making them a little less perfect—but coming from the heart—is a very good idea.
Wishing you and your family a wonderful Christmas! ;)
Best wishes, Susann

Dear Steffi,
thank you so much for this lovely Christmas story! :-)
You write beautifully. It’s really fun to read the story.

Merry Christmas to all of you!

Monika

Hi Steffi, thank you so much for sharing this lovely story with us.

I wish everyone a wonderful Christmas and a few peaceful, beautiful days. :-)

Warm regards,
Christine

thank you so much for your little story. It’s a really great read.
It also reminds us that, even in the midst of all the hustle and bustle, we should take a moment to find some peace—and that we don’t always
have to be perfect.
Wishing everyone a merry and peaceful Christmas. God jul

Dear Steffi,

I just have to write to you again and say thank you. This story deeply touched my family just now... 

Very suspenseful, and it expresses beautifully what Christmas truly means.

I wish you lots of joy and time for yourself and your family!

From the heart,
Monika

Dear Steffi

I just got around to reading your wonderful story! I’m going to save it so I can read it again from time to time! I also really love your imagery! Thank you so much!

Since Christmas is now over, I’d simply like to wish you and your loved ones a few peaceful days during the last week of the year, and then all the best—good luck, good health, happiness, and success in the new year.

Warm regards

Christina

Dear Steffi,
thank you so much for this wonderful, thought-provoking Christmas story.

I wish everyone time for themselves and their families again and again—not just at Christmas. These are such precious moments.

Best wishes, Traudelina

Dear Steffi

My husband also really enjoyed your Christmas story, both the content and the writing! Thank you so much again—and we'd gladly read more!

I’m so glad you enjoyed the story and thank you for your kind words :-)
I hope you all had a great start to the new year and wish you all the very best!
I’m packing right now—tomorrow I’m heading off on vacation. And then it’s time to sharpen the pencil (well, oil the keyboard), because I actually have a big writing project lined up for next year. I’m already super excited :-)))

Lots of love from your Steffi

Dear Steffi,
I’d like to wish you a wonderful vacation. Relax and let all your new ideas blossom for your writing project. Good luck with that, too!

Lots of love, Monika