My coffee wasn’t right this morning, and I don’t know why. It had been brewed just as it usually is, with the usual amount of scoops and water. I used the usual amount of cream and sugar. It was even in my usual cup. But it didn’t taste right. It was still good, but not great. Something was a little…off.

That would seem a small thing to most people, but not me. I need my coffee in the morning, and when it’s a little off, it affects other things. It’s like the first domino that trips and causes the others to fall, and that’s exactly what happened to me today. My coffee was just a little off, which made everything else seem the same way.

Like the weather. Today had that crisp quality that November in Virginia always seems to promise—the air was cool, the skies blue, and I could look eastward to the Blue Ridge and westward to the Alleghenies of West Virginia. But there was a breeze. November brings a wind to this valley that cuts through every layer of clothing you wear and into your bones. That’s the sort of wind that blew today, and hard enough to keep me from enjoying the scenery outside. It was good weather, yes. But just a little off.

Lunch wasn’t that good—filling, but not very palatable. The ride home from work was quiet, but it was marred by the road repairs I had to navigate through and the traffic that surrounded me. The nightly routine was just that—routine. Nothing horrible happened, but neither did anything wonderful. It was good, but just a little off.

Now, as I lay here in bed and recall the events of the day, I can honestly say that I can summon not one thing, not even one moment, that has been truly satisfying about my day. Everything fell just a bit short of the mark. In fact, the past nineteen hours or so have been just the opposite of today’s lunch—on this day, my life has been palatable, but not filling.

It would be easy for me to blame the coffee for all of this. After all, that’s where my existential angst had its beginning. And if I could stretch that notion out a bit, I could almost rationalize a decision to concentrate all of my efforts tomorrow morning to make the best cup of coffee I can. Maybe then my day will be filled with all manner of sublime satisfactions.

I really don’t think that’s true, though.

I think if it wouldn’t have been the coffee, it would have been something else. Our days are full of those minor irritations that tempt us toward dissatisfaction. In a world of incalculable joys, there still doesn’t seem to be enough of them to grant us the peace we all crave.

I think deep down we all know this. But there’s such an air of pessimism in the thought that we’re all doomed in this life to forever seek and never really find. It’s much easier and much more hopeful to convince ourselves otherwise. If we do a little less of this or get a little more of that, the elusive satisfaction we’ve always sought will finally be ours.

We humans have been thinking that for a while, haven’t we? And chances are we’ll be thinking that for a while more. That longing is part of who we are. It’s what makes us a little lower than the angels, and what often gets us into so much trouble.

I’ll try to remember that next time. I won’t expect true fulfillment from something as silly as a cup of coffee or the weather or a meal or even the incalculable joys of this world, because they can’t give that to me. Everything will always seem just a little off for us in this life, and that’s because we were made for the next one.

Well, it’s over.

The presents have been opened, the excitement has waned, and all that is left of this Christmas seems to be a longing for the next one. At least, that’s what my kids are thinking. And honestly, that’s what I’ve caught myself thinking, too.

Life will resume in a few days. School will start. It’ll be back to work. Everything will be boxed up and put back into the attic. It’s easy for people like me to grab hold of Christmas. Hard for me to let it go.

But then I found my last Christmas present, and that all changed.

I’ve written about it over at katdish’s site. Please hop on over there and visit. And don’t let that Christmas magic slip away quite yet.

The presents are wrapped, the tree is lit. Somewhere north of here, a jolly fat man and a bunch of his helpers are loading a sleigh and hitching up eight tiny reindeer. On the television, Linus is reminding everyone what Christmas is all about. There is a buzz in my house today that is unmatched on the other 364 days of the year. It’s a current that runs through each of us and alights our face in smiles.

For a lot of people, Christmas Day is their favorite day of the year. It isn’t mine. I’ve always fancied Christmas Eve a bit more. I’ve often wondered why and never really have figured out an answer, but I think I have one now.

It’s the anticipation.

It’s the knowing that what we’ve all been waiting for is now upon it. It’s almost here, mere hours away. No longer a wish, but a certainty.

In a life that promises doubt, certainties are treasures.

Today I will go about my normal Christmas Eve routine. There will be emails to send and a book to write. I’ve promised to help with cookies. And I’ll likely ready the truck for our annual drive to look at Christmas lights this evening.

And there are church services tonight, too. Can’t forget that. Because like Linus said, that’s what Christmas is all about. The birth of a baby boy who was God as much as man and heaven as much as earth. Who grew like we do and died so we’ll never have to really.

I’ll think of that today, too. Of the gift He gave. Of that great present still waiting for my unwrapping. Of the promise that one day I’ll be with the angels and those who have gone before me. And Him. Oh, the questions I will have for Him. I’ll likely think of those today, too. And I’ll also have in my mind a vision of my laughter when He answers them, and of me saying, “Of course, of course…”

It’s the anticipation, you see.

From my family to yours, I wish you a Merry Christmas. I wish you God’s abundant blessings and His eternal peace. May this Christmas be a seed that is planted in you, that sprouts and yields fruit to see you through the winters of your heart.

God bless us, every one.

Tommy and Betty Chandler are what you would call a normal couple. They deeply love each other in a comfortable sort of way; their years together have helped each of them to gloss over the rough patches in the other. Usually, that is. But while their tastes in most things are compatible, they diverge on this one very important thing–Christmas decorations.

I wrote about the Chandlers last year and then promptly forgot about their argument once December turned into January and the decorations were taken down. But I drove by their house the other night, and the ugly Santa was back. I laughed in spite of myself and thought about this post.

To read it,I invite you over to Katdish’s site.