It's just after midnight on Christmas Eve. I suppose that makes it Christmas morning, and I missed the eleventh day, but since I haven’t slept yet, it still feels like the eve.
It’s raining here tonight. As we made our way to the little community south of us where our grandson is buried, I noticed how differently the Christmas lights reflected against the darkness than against a layer of snow—still beautiful, but quieter, somehow.
The luminaries at the cemetery weren’t thwarted by the rain. They glowed bravely, illuminating the sacred space with soft warm light.
As we drove home, I couldn’t help but wonder if the innkeeper brought a lantern into the stable for Mary and Joseph to illuminate that sacred space as they welcomed their baby into the world.
Everyone has finally fallen asleep in our house, and the lights of the little village along the mantle are twinkling like a hush has fallen—one moment of calm before the world awakes and choruses of angels sing Hallelujah! It’s Christmas morn!
In this stillness between eve and morn, I found Christmas Spirit. All is Calm. All is Bright.
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