Look for the good in others and yourself.
You are what you think about.
Choose friends wisely. People who bring you up, not down.
Notice the small things. Birdsong. The scent of a rose on an August afternoon. A dusting of snow across the meadow.
Don’t hold on too tightly to someone you love. If they’re truly yours, they will return to you.
Rejoice in the birth of Jesus. This is his day, so that we might be free. Don’t forget the true meaning of Christmas.
“Do you remember these?” Jason asked.
“Sure. She did them every year. I wonder if we ever followed any of her advice?”
“At eighteen, probably not. Now, sure,” Jason said. “Or at least I hope so.”
“What else is in there?” Roan asked.
Jason pulled out a small music box. He wound it up andSilent Nightbegan to play, tinny and sweet.
At the bottom of the box were photo ornaments—clear glass balls with pictures inside. Their mother—Caroline—holding newborn twins in the hospital. The three of them at Little Bear Lake on a summer day. All three in matching Christmas pajamas when they were ten or so.
Jason reached into the box one more time and pulled out one last ornament—a glass angel that had clearly been broken and carefully glued back together. A memory flooded back. Roan had knocked it off the tree during a rousing game of charades. He could see the crack lines, the places where it had shattered. Buttheir mother had glued it back together. She’d always been able to fix whatever was broken. Even unruly boys.
“I broke this. Remember?” Roan asked.
“Charades?” Jason asked.
“Yep, that’s it. I wonder what I was trying to describe?”
“That I can’t remember,” Jason said. “You were never as good at charades as me.”
