They’re right about that song, you know. Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year.

I’ve been in a chipper mood, dancing and loudly singing off-key to all fourteen Christmas songs they stream on Pandora (or so my husband says, but I really think there might be closer to thirty holiday songs total!)

This year was one of decisions. We’re in a house now (well, renting, but still! a house!) and a real tree was decided as one of those mandatory steps that “real” people do. It was on our list of things that grown-ups do. But after much discussing of pine needles and sap and spider infestations and who would water it (oh, the horrors!) we up and bought a balsam hill. Done and done, for now until we’re old and gray.

We’re in love. Our tree is decked out in the typical Jones-Ginos fashion, with mismatched ornaments dating back to 1986 (vintage is in, right?). And don’t tell my husband, but the led lights make that twinge of electricity-costs-a-lot guilt disappear, so this luscious lady can stay lit anytime I’m in need of extra Christmas spirit.

The holidays are this beautiful gift we’ve been given to remember our Savior and the blessings we have. You guys, REJOICE! We have so, so much to be thankful for! We count our blessings each and every day to be healthy and strong and capable.

But alas, amid that joy I’ve come to realize in the most horrible way that holiday seasons also unearth pain and loneliness hidden deep, deep inside.

And it so happens I’ve been thinking long and hard this Christmas season about Amelia.

They just don’t make gift guides for this sort of thing, for death and the like. Aside from the obvious “give her the gift of service! of love to others!” mushy gushy stuff (which is great! I’m working on it, people!), I decided to give her an ornament or two. And a stocking. I hope 3-month old Amelia would have liked the color pink.

Some people avoid hanging stockings for the dead. That’s cool. But to me, Amelia must have a stocking because she chose our family and is stuck with me as her mama for eternity. Her name will hang on our mantle for one month of every year. She deserves that much, at least. It downright sucks, though, to be honest. I catch her name in the corner of my eye too many times a day to keep my eyes adequately dry. But I think it’d be worse to not hang her stocking, because that little girl is a part of our forever family. And a (literal) gaping hole in our family stocking tree is not okay with me.

Our (new! real people!) brightly-lit tree is also bittersweet, filled with mismatched ornaments from years past. It’s fun to see how Tyler’s mama marked her ornaments with dates and names, like she knew we’d reminisce about them some day. Thanks for that, Connie. This year was especially tough, as we added more ornaments from the dead than we have for the living. THAT is not a fun realization to make, my friends.

But sadness & grouchiness & ebenezer scrooge-ness isn’t allowed when a Christmnas tree is up and shining brightly. And for that, GRATITUDE is the best, best gift. It really fixes everything to count your many blessings, naming them one by one. It really will surprise you what that Lord has done! Again and again, when my heart is full of longing and bitter sorrow and jealousy and envy of those who just don’t know, I am made whole again through gratitude, and counting those blessings one by one.

(We’re practicing gratitude this year by putting kind notes in one another’s stockings throughout the month. I encourage you to do the same! Our family will read them to one another on Christmas Eve.)