Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new.   –Edmund Waller

I crossed the threshold into the white-steepled Lutheran church.  The old, traditional sanctuary was simply and beautifully decorated for Christmas.  In the small narthex was my Grandfather’s casket—rich, golden-hued wood, not fancy, just lovely, with a lining that had sheaves of wheat imprinted on it, and I thought to myself, “How perfect.”  My father’s father was a small man, a farmer, born in a sod house in the Dakota Territory in 1884, before South Dakota became a state.  I was in my second year of college, and this was the first death of someone close to me.  He had lived at home until two or three days before his death, had received communion from his pastor in those twilight hours of his life, and slipped away in peace.  He was 93 years old.  It was a funeral of celebration, the most peaceful and almost joyful funeral I have ever attended.

Nine years and two days after his death, I gave birth to our first daughter, in a hospital decorated for Christmas.

My sweet Grandma Irene died after a lengthy stay in a nursing home at the age of 94.  She was a teacher and a farmer’s wife.  She cared about people more than anyone I have ever known.  She was a great cook, a dedicated artist, and had a wonderful laugh.  The funeral was held in the Lutheran church where Chris and I were married, and it was joyfully decorated with a large tree, wreaths, and banners.

Twenty-one years before that day, I had given birth to our second daughter, in a hospital decorated for Christmas.

My Dad died a year and five days ago.  He was a cowboy, mechanic, and builder.  I found out about his death as I stood in our Minnesota home amidst the smell of the fir tree, the sparking lights, the greenery, and the nativity scenes.

Twenty-three years minus two days before his death, I gave birth to our son, in a hospital decorated for Christmas.

So…December.  The last two weeks of December have always been beautiful, busy, bustling, and bright.  As the years have passed, and the kids are gone from the nest and loved ones are gone from this earth, it has also been bittersweet.  It is a time of transition, from the old year to the new—in birthday years and calendar years.  December was a month of crazy weather transitions with snow, ice, rain, and bitter cold.  Blue skies and frosty days painted the landscape with diamonds of ice crystals.

Twilight thresholds of a sundog sunset—like three suns setting…

…and a full-moon rising, nestled in the pine and spruce boughs.

A bright spot in December was the annual blooming of the Christmas cactus.  My plant is a cutting from the very large, old Christmas cactus that belonged to my great-grandma Anna on my Mom’s side of the family.  It was passed down to Anna’s daughter Edith, with cuttings to my Mom and then to me.

The winter birds returned to the feeders, their daily feeding times a joyous and energetic ritual—the epitome of living in the moment.

The end of a month, the end of a year, the beginning of a new month, the beginning of a new year.  We’re standing on the threshold—looking back at the old in all its certainty, looking forward to the new with anticipation and wonder.  Like those days of loss when the world would never be the same without our loved ones, and we looked forward with sorrow and trepidation.  Like those glorious birth days, when our world turned upside down and we didn’t know what lay in store for us, but we looked forward with excitement, joy, and love.  Nature offers us those threshold times every day with each twilight—the day coming to an end at dusk with the setting of the sun and a new day dawning as the sun rises.  Seasons and years slowly and consistently transition, remaining steadfast as we cross the threshold marked by the calendar.  The threads that tie the old with the new are many—the love of our families, the expression of our talents, the DNA that links us, and even the generations-old Christmas cactus that blooms each December.  These threads give us the courage to step forward through the threshold with hope and determination.  We can be like the feeding birds and show up in our present moment with joy and energy.  The Latin word for threshold is ‘limen’, the root word for liminal space and liminality.  David Guyor defines threshold or liminal space as ” the place or the experience where we are getting ourselves ready to move across the limits of what we were into what we are to be.”  Sometimes those thresholds are thrust upon us and we are blindsided, and our recovery and action are slow and self-protecting; other times we stand at the threshold of our choosing with determination and power.  Gather up the threads from the past that serve and sustain us and let them carry us across the liminal space into what we are to be.  Happy New Year!