None of it makes a difference to me.
Some of you I barely know.
Some of you I have known and loved to the depths of my soul.
None of it matters.
Because each of you has my heart.
And each of you deserves to hear this on Christmas day:
Life is a journey.
You are not always going to get it right, and it is not always going to make sense.
But you will live.
Isn’t
that
wonderful?
I so adore you, bloggy friends.
Thank you, again, for allowing me to be as I am.
Merry Christmas.
Love, Brooke.
It’s tradition.
And though the tradition has changed, it’s still just as beautiful to me.
I am no longer a child.
I am no longer innocent and stainless.
But there is a beating heart within me that remembers.
Merry Christmas, my beautiful bloggy friends.
From my soul to yours, Merry Christmas.
And a happy new year.
Dearest Bloggy friends,
Merry day, to you all. Just taking a moment to send you all the love hearts (because I can’t seem to stop myself- and because love hearts are the best).
To those of you struggling to make it through the joy of the season: it’s okay to cry. Please do. How beautiful it will feel to release.
To those of you who have found joy and more: I’m so pleased for you. Life is for living, and joy is one of the most beautiful seasons.
To the parents: rest. It really will be okay.
And to the rest of you: yes. I do think you should have that extra slice of cake.
Lots and lots of love, Brooke. xxx
The Christmas spirit never dies.
The Christmas spirit is forever and always,
so why put it away?
Do we not become our best selves
whilst wrapped in the spirit of Christmas?
Me thinks we do.
And so it is
I ask again:
why do we put it away?
Why do we put
the love
away?
On the twelfth day of Christmas, her sleeping babes warmed her heart from their beds.
What joy might tomorrow bring for them, she wondered, remembering the magic of being a child on Christmas eve.
She remembered lying in bed, listening to the lullaby of her heart, hoping and wishing to meet the morning sooner.
She remembered such lovely things—
and she smiled.
Because on the twelfth day of Christmas, the girl became a woman in love with the dream all over again.
But this time the dream was for her sleeping babes.
Sleep tight, my little ones.
Sweet dreams, until the morning finds you.
Ps. Thank you so much for coming on this heart-filled journey with me, these past twelve days. Merry days to you all, my lovely friends. Here’s hoping the magic of the season finds you and chases you well into the new year.
xx Brooke
It’s the eleventh day of Christmas and I’m listening to music.
Beautiful music.
It sends my spirit into the sky.
It turns my body into love.
Beautiful music—
language of my soul.
How I adored you, on the eleventh day of Christmas.
On the tenth day of Christmas, there was a party.
Two years ago (nearly) she rocketed into my world and I fell irreversibly in love.
With her.
My mini me.
My little princess of the adorably nuts kind.
Happy birthday, darling girl.
Thank you for ruining Mummy’s forever Christmas;
no gift from here on in will ever be as sweet as you.
On the eighth day of Christmas
I wondered how the steps I take
with my average girl feet
might change the world—
even in some small way.
I wondered for about a second
and then I stopped wondering
and just…smiled.
Because on the eighth day of Christmas
I remembered:
a smile is all it takes
to change the world.
Every day, I change the world.
And every day, I bet you do too.
On the sixth day of Christmas, I craved a feeling.
A specific feeling, really.
I craved a couch. And a book. And me.
All of us rolled up together,
where nothing and no one could find us.
It’s not like I wanted to escape the day
or the responsibilities that lay before me.
I just wanted to read.
I wanted to remember the warmth—
snuggling on the couch with a book
and a lovely new imaginary friend (or two.)
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
There’s nothing quite like that feeling.
The touch of a book, the smell.
The firecrackers that tickle the skin,
melting me—word by delectable word.
Thank goodness there’s tonight.
I think I’ll read, tonight.
Dear Santa,
It’s the second day of Christmas and here I am writing to you!
Surprise! I know. It’s been FOREVER. I’ll try not to leave it so long next time.
I wonder if you’ll even get this little email of mine. Do you have a computer in the North Pole? Do you even know what a computer is? Oh. Ha ha ha. Of COURSE you do, Santa— I’ll bet you’ve given a million of them away, in your time. Maybe even a billion. Well! However many you’ve given, I’m sure they’ve helped to change the world in some wonderful way.
Or not.
I mean, I don’t really know…
Umm. Santa? I truly am sorry I haven’t written for so long. The thing is, somewhere along the line someone told me you weren’t real—which is completely ridiculous, I know, especially considering I can feel you right here in my heart.
I’ll never let you go Santa.
Nope. Not ever. And do you know why?
Because I believe in magic. I believe in the magic of you.
That’s okay, isn’t it? For a big kid like me to believe in you always and forever and always, again?
Because, Santa, you’ve gotta know this: the magic of you lit the fire inside me. The magic of you helped to build me—helped fill me with all the bits of happy—and I am just not cool with letting you slip away quite so easily.
Big kids are allowed to believe, aren’t we, Santa?
I really hope you write back.
I really hope you write back and say, ‘Yes, Brooke, it’s okay for big kids to believe, too.’ Because I think my joy butterflies need you to keep them alive, Santa, I really and truly do. After all, joy butterflies eat magic for breakfast, lunch AND dinner. Without you…my joy butterflies might starve!
Anyway.
I really have waffled on.
I just wanted you to know this, Santa, I haven’t forgotten you. You’re still here, always in my heart.
Always.
Lots of love,
Brooke. (The biggest kid of them all.)
brooke-cutler.com 