I took down my Christmas decorations last week. My neighbors are glad that the lights on my porch won’t clash with the Valentine Day balloons on theirs.
            The older I get the more contrary I become. I take pleasure in the thought of people shaking their heads when they drive by my house all a-glow on the night of Martin Luther King Day.
           But the deeper pleasure is extending Christmas as long as I can. In the Bible, forty days represents a long time. If you count forty days from Christmas, you end up on February 2nd, the Feast of Candlemas, the traditional close of the Christmas season.
           I recall my mother attending Mass on that day each year. The blessed candles she brought home would be lit each time a storm threatened to wash out our crops or level the house and barn. Memories of home is the main reason why decorations remain on display in my house into February, fueled by the presence of the Christmas cards I receive, especially the ones with photos of friends and family with their children and grandchildren gathered in living rooms, walking through autumn woods or posing in front of tractors, hay bales and high school football fields. 
         The spiritual writer, Fr. Ron Rolheiser, posted a reflection on his blog about the importance of home in the early days of his priesthood, when the demands of ministry overwhelmed him. 

I would get into my car and drive four hours to our family farm where I was able to eat at the same table I’d eaten at as a child, sleep in the same bed I’d slept in as a boy, and walk the same ground I’d walked while growing up. Usually, it didn’t take long for home to do its work. I’d only need a meal or an overnight stay and the chaos and heartache would subside; I’d begin to feel steady again.

           Even if one’s home was unsteady, he continues, every soul seeks and requires a place where it can settle down and settle in.

                It’s a journey we all need to make in times of chaos and deep restlessness in our lives, namely, to find a place, a space, a friend, a family, a house, a table…something that grounds us again in security, trust, stability, and faith.

             There are many paths that lead to such a place and the trail markers can be as varied as old songs, a rusted car or the smell of turkey in the oven. In my life, the rhythm of nature’s seasons and holy seasons yield memories that I sorely need and deeply savor: newborn lambs, county fairs, molasses on bread, a yellow porch light and, in early February, warning flares blessed and ready for the rumble of summer thunder.
            Happy Candlemas !