Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Let There Be Peace on Earth

Less than two weeks before Winter solstice Fall was most definitely in the air. Beneath my feet crunched the bones of the leaves that once spoke life. The reds and yellows were gone and the brown clung to the trees trying desperately not to let go and succumb to gravity. I walked along this worn path of fallen leaves preparing to do something that I had never done regardless of the times it had been suggested to me. I was going to the locally famous Lewis Lights. 

With a small band of friends we began our journey down a lighted path that shone almost as brightly as the smile I once wore when my wife would walk in the room. I approached the first bend in the path thinking, as I often do, how much better this jaunt would have been if my little girl were with me. Then my mind came to the realization that my little girl would be 24 and, although I would have been more overjoyed than words could describe, it would not give me the same reaction as it would have had a small child been with me. The joy of wonder in a child's eyes always lifts my spirit. The smile on their face followed by the Ohhhh shape of their lips when they realize that their magical Uncle Kevin can indeed pull his finger off or stick a straw up his nose and make it come out of his mouth is more of a delight to me than the experience ever will be to them. But tonight, alas, I had no small child in tow. 
The Old Testament tells us of the story of Abraham and Isaac as they journeyed to make a sacrifice with no sacrificial animal. Isaac had faith when His father told him God would provide a sacrifice. Well, tonight God provided for me what I needed to make my experience so much more than it could've been. Five steps into our excursion we came upon a woman taking pictures of three little girls. I offered to take a picture so the woman could be a part of the photographic experience. When all the "cheeeeses" had been said I returned the camera/phone to the woman and we moved on. Several steps later brought us to what I had heard about. A series of storyboards followed telling the story of the birth of Christ. My group and I moved from one story board to the next reading silently to ourselves. Before we could reach the next storyboard I heard the three small girls reading aloud. Suddenly I knew what I wanted. I wanted to hear the girls read the story. Although it sounded like three part harmony in the tone of a reading circle, it was music to my ears. I stopped my group and we stood to listen to the storyboards being read. Although I knew where the story was headed, I slowed down and took in not just the story, but the delight in the voices of these young girls as they sounded out each word stumbling slightly over words like Bethlehem and falling a little flat on frankincense. But the wonder with which they read these words and rushed to read the next part of the story made me realize something about my Christmas past and, more importantly, my Christmas future. Doubtless, losing a child puts a damper on the Christmas holiday. Try as you might it is hard to keep your focus off the missing presence among the presents. Subsequently, losing your wife makes it impossible. The last Christmas saw my heart shrink four sizes that day. But tonight, in the shadow of the Rugrats Christmas signs, I finally understood. 

Christmas is not about recognizing that a baby that lay in the hay didn't cry when woken by the cattle lowing. It is not about how silent a night was around the same baby. It isn't about whether my Christmas is white, blue, or leafless brown. Christmas is about the introduction to the world the possibility that I will one day again see my wife and child. Christmas is about the fact that, no matter how bad my sins were, a child sought by three wise men, was placed there so I could be forgiven of those sins. Christmas is about peace on earth, and tonight it began in me. 

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