Everything to do with the Father Christmas stocking has been my pleasure, my joy. The purchasing of all the tit bits, chocolate coins, top trump cards, stationary paraphernalia, books and the compulsory orange and nuts…
I love filling the sacks, scattering the root veg left, spilling the port / wine / beer, taking a bite of the mince pie or sausage roll and making the reindeer ‘mess’.
And then I have loved creeping in to bed with the Big Man to watch the Christmas Eve movie, still tiddly from post Christmas Eve Crib Service drinks and smile and think how lucky I am.
I love Christmas Eve and the excitement and belief in the boys’ eyes.
I love tradition.
I love the comfort of routine and habit.
And yet while I fill the sacks and scatter the sparkly oaty mess down the corridor, part of the routine and comfort is missing. A big gaping hole. There is no Big Man to snuggle to, smile with, count my blessings with.
But rather than feel sorry for myself, I feel strangely calm, reflective. This is what he wanted apparently, according to messages I have seen from this year, from last year. So the moral is perhaps to be careful what you wish for.
The power of manifestation, the power of what you focus on grows and what you ignore diminishes.
I was wishing for and being grateful for honesty and truth and love. And all my wishes have come true, my gratitudes magnified just in a very different way and very different channel than I expected.
As my secret teaching said today – you provide the mould, the universe fills it.