Christmas Decor is Up, But November’s Lessons Still Apply

Inside: “Savor the moment” is life-giving encouragement that helps us focus on what truly matters, through the holidays and beyond. ~

Aside from pumpkins on the front porch, I don’t normally decorate my house for fall.

This year, I even skipped the orange gourds because I’m still ordering groceries online and didn’t want anyone else picking out pumpkins for me. Then, in early November, I remembered the Thanksgiving plates I’ve had in a box in the basement for several years.

I dug them out and we started using them at supper every night, one for me and one for Randy. I also got out my lone Thanksgiving decoration, a Pilgrim-themed candleholder I typically only think about the day before the actual holiday, and I started burning it every day too.

Daily Reminders

If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that thankfulness is the antidote to so many sour feelings. When we’re weak and worn, the joy of the Lord really is our strength, just as Nehemiah 8:10 says it is.

It may not seem like much, but for me, the plates and the candle were reminders to savor the day. To give thanks. To not rush into the next season with all its frills and fancy.

In case you were wondering, I take a very different approach to Christmas decorating. We pulled numerous plastic totes out of the same basement storage room that held the aforementioned plates, and all the decorations went up the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

Several Nativity sets. A Christmas village. My Santa collection. A live tree, complete with ornaments, lights and a sparkly star at the top.

Ongoing Lessons

I love my home when it’s decorated for Christmas, and I’m so glad my girls were here to help me put everything up again. That said, now that we’re well into December, the quiet lessons of November are still working on my heart.

They remind me of my father’s favorite essay, “The Station” by Robert J. Hastings. When my dad shared first shared this with me many years ago, I printed it out and framed it. It hangs on the wall in my entry hall, with a wooden cutout of the word peace positioned directly above it.

Years ago, I tracked down the publisher and obtained permission to share “The Station” here on the blog. Amid the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, I have a feeling I’m not the only one who might need to revisit the wisdom that flows from this short piece of writing.

Read it thoughtfully. Savor the imagery. Most importantly, take the message to heart—as 2025 winds to a close and as the new year begins. Life really is too short to do otherwise.

“The Station” by Robert J. Hastings

Tucked away in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision in which we see ourselves on a long journey that spans an entire continent. We’re traveling by train and, from the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at crossings, of cattle grazing in distant pastures, of smoke pouring from power plants, of row upon row of cotton and corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of city skylines and village halls.

But uppermost in our minds is our final destination—for at a certain hour and on a given day, our train will finally pull into the station with bells ringing, flags waving and bands playing. And once that day comes, so many wonderful dreams will come true. So restlessly, we pace the aisles and count the miles, peering ahead, waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.

“Yes, when we reach the station, that will be it!” we promise ourselves. “When we’re 18 . . . win that promotion . . . put the last kid through college . . . buy that 450 SL Mercedes-Benz . . . pay off the mortgage . . . have a nest egg for retirement.”

From that day on, we will all live happily ever after.

Sooner or later, however, we must realize there is no station in this life, no one earthly place to arrive at once and for all. The journey is the joy. The station is an illusion—it constantly outdistances us. Yesterday’s a memory; tomorrow’s a dream. Yesterday belongs to history; tomorrow belongs to God. Yesterday’s a fading sunset; tomorrow’s a faint sunrise. Only today is there light enough to love and live.

So, gently close the door on yesterday and throw the key away. It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad, but rather the regret over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow.

“Relish the moment” is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24: “This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”

So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, swim more rivers, climb more mountains, kiss more babies, count more stars. Laugh more and cry less. Go barefoot oftener. Eat more ice cream. Ride more merry-go-rounds. Watch more sunsets. Life must be lived as we go along.

The station will come soon enough.

• • •

No Post Here Next Week

Next week, I’ll send out my subscriber-only, email newsletter, Courage, Dear Heart, which replaces my third blog post of each month.

If you filled out the subscription form in the last several weeks and haven’t received anything yet, the confirmation email probably went to your junk or spam folder. If you can’t find it there, please subscribe again and check those folders for the opt-in message. Be sure to add the newsletter’s email address to your safe list so you don’t miss anything else.

If you haven’t had a chance to sign up for the newsletter yet, you can do so here:

Click Here to Subscribe

As my way of saying thanks, you’ll receive a free copy of my 7-day devotional, Faith, Fear, and the God Who Goes Before Us.

♥ Lois

“The Station” appeared in the Southern Illinois University Press’s publication, A Penny’s Worth of Minced Ham: Another Look at the Great Depression by Robert J. Hastings. Copyright © 1986 by the Board of Trustees, Southern Illinois University; reprinted by permission of the publisher.

P.S. I’m linking up this week with #tellhisstory, InstaEncouragements, Let’s Have Coffee and Grace & Truth.