It’s Christmas Eve. The tree is not up; no gifts bought; forget cooking the turkey. I sit alone on my couch, wrapped in a blanket and suffering from as miserable a cold as I’ve had in my life.

Amazingly enough, I’m grateful.

True, I usually celebrate Christmas in January when my foster daughter, her husband and two beautiful grandkids come here for a late celebration, but I customarily find some way to do something special on the actual Christmas Eve and Day. This year, I’ve cancelled invitations for various holiday activities, unwilling to share this nasty virus and not feeling very festive anyway. I’ll most likely pass on the Christmas Eve service at the local village church this evening, not willing to punctuate the music I so enjoy with my staccato cough.

Amazingly enough, I’m grateful.

You see, this Christmas I’m spending it with the most important person in my life … me.

Don’t misunderstand me, this will not be a particularly fun Christmas. I’d much rather be caroling or taking Christmas candy to the neighbors or doing my usual Christmas Day ski trip, but I am grateful. I’m alone in a quiet house, having to psyche myself into the energy to get off the couch for basic things like heating soup and doing dishes. All I seem to have energy to do is sleep and think … to have a good, long over-due conversation with myself. That is one great left-handed gift.

I learned a long time ago that, when faced with life’s darkest moments, keep walking. The light switch is probably on the other side of the room. True, one is likely to bash a chin against the coffee table, or trip over a rug in the dark, but you don’t get to the light by standing in the darkness.

This is the third day I’ve been sick. Yep, I’ve walked straight into that “holiday depression” while incapacitated, but this morning I found the light switch. FaceBook has been my lifeline to the world while sick, and someone posted a “what fictional character are you” quiz. I got Atticus Finch. I couldn’t have been more thrilled.

You see, I’m not perfect. I’m a little rough around the edges with an off-color humor that frequently makes people groan. At the age of 60, I’m alone, an indication in itself that I’m no master of the relationship thing. I’m not perfect, but I do my best. With every breath I take, ever decision I make, I do my best.

In To Kill a Mockingbird, Atticus Finch did his best. He took a case he knew he’d lose because it was the right thing to do. He stood against a horrible man, knowing he put himself and potentially his children in danger because it was the right thing to do. He always did his best, even in situations where there was no answer or decision that could prevent pain or wrong-doing. He did his best, while striving also to understand and offer healing to those whom he must oppose.

The quiz said I was like Atticus Finch. I’ll claim that.

You know why I’m grateful this Christmas? Because I’m spending it with someone who, although she fails on a regular basis, strives every day to live the essence of the holiday spirit … to live with love and integrity. As much as I can, I offer that as a gift to humanity. It may seem paltry, but it’s the best I have to give.

A friend of mine, Andy Wilkinson, wrote a song about a plain grave marker found on the Texas prairie. It said, “Johnny done his damnedest. No one could do more.”

That’s the gift I offer to you all … the light switch I found at the other end of the darkened room. Just do your damnedest, and love yourself for who you are. Forgive yourself if you ever feel as if it’s not “enough” and celebrate during those moments when you can see the difference you make.

To Kill a Mockingbird