by Gray Wolf

Another Christmas has arrived in San Miguel. My diet relapses to cookies, chocolates and sweets. A week from now, I'll be craving lettuce and vinegar. My eyes are dazzled by the beautiful holiday lights and piñatas hanging in the streets. I watch as holiday vendedores pop up like weeds on the sidewalk to sell the essentials of Christmas posadas: fruits, dulces, nuts.

I wait patiently in the traffic of Northern tourists and Mexicans arriving home for the holiday: bolsas full of money, hearts full of joy as they visit their abuelos, papas, hermanos and hijos. Streets become rivers of tourists: some toting rolling luggage on bumpy sidewalks while others extend their selfie-sticks for a family photo.

I witness Mexican families and children outfitted with angel wings and gifts in hand as they rush the sidewalk to yet another posada. I surrender to the memories of my own childhood Christmases, shedding a tear for what was and feeling the joy of Mexican children as they experience their Christmas.

I attend a Christmas chorale. I attend a mass. I receive the sacrament. I quietly let my gaze rest upon the image of Guadalupe as she comforts my spirit, my longing heart with her pure, undying compassion. I share that compassion as I press a coin into the palm of a blanketed mother and child, chilled by the night and petitioning mercy in their eleventh hour on the sidewalk.

I arrive home after spending another day in the pueblo, grateful for the abundant and intangible gifts I have received this day. And once again, I feel warmth and fullness in my soul. I feel grace. I feel love.

No matter what tradition you celebrate, may you experience warmth, love, compassion and grace this holiday season.

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