My favorite part of Christmas has always been and will always remain the quietness that comes after the stores have all closed, the shoppers have cleared the roadways and there’s a palpable stillness in town.

Everyone gathers at the house and we feast on ham and whatever else we feel like making that year. Grandma’s cookies are a requirement. Such delectables you have never seen …

Then comes the chaos of opening the gifts. Is that the right size? I couldn’t remember what color you liked! I am so glad I didn’t buy that for myself! Guess what I’ll be listening to on the way to church? Does this need batteries? Where’s the trash bag?*

One thing became abundantly clear as I opened my gifts … my affinity for hot beverages of the caffeinated kind have become legendary. Not one, but two Winnie-the Pooh coffee mug sets. A Starbucks gift card (Thanks, MG, I see some carmel macciatos in my future), a coffee sample gift set … It’s a wonder no one came up with an IV drip to inject the java directly into my veins.

Music also featured heavily in the gift area. K-tizzle gave me an iTunes gift card just in time for the new Matt Redman CD that releases tomorrow (Heh, more work for you, Praize Girl!). Mom & Dad gave me a lovely CD/Radio/Cassette/Turntable. Yes, folksies, vinyl!

Candlelight service was absolutely beautiful as well. No one recognized the nephew, who grew about five billion inches since last year. I had a bit part in the program and promptly banged my head on the roof of the stable scenery as I made my way to the manger. Given my general lack of height, it was rather an astonishing feat to have done it!

But most of all, Christmas was and is a break from the routine. A day to rest and remember. A day to honor the Light of the World who has stepped into the darkness that is life on this earth. A day to even think forward to the sacrifice that the baby in the manger would make on a Friday morning in April.

That’s what Christmas is really all about.

*Please note: trash bag was for wrappings, not the gift.

was the longest in terms of what I had to do, but that is nothing compared to the wonderful realization that from this point on, the days will be getting longer.

I like to have plenty of light, but not too much. It is just as ridiculous to me for the sun to be setting at 9 p.m. in the summer as it is for the sun to be completely below the horizon by 5 p.m. in December. I hate rooms that are brightly lit with flourescent bulbs nearly as much as I hate a totally dark room.

It’s a never-ending tension between light and dark.

It’s a never-ending tension in life.

Often we try to walk in the light, but just as often can be drawn to the shadows. We wonder about what is hidden and what it might be like to dance on the edges of the light without stepping into total darkness.

Yet, there is light. There is THE LIGHT. At Christmas, we celebrate its arrival into our darkness. And there is something so compelling about the light that no matter how dark it is, it is never truly dark. No matter how far we wander into the shadows, the Light is still there waiting for us to come back. The Light is eternal. The Light surrounds us. The Light is with us.

Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us). - Matthew 1:23 (ESV)

I’m loaded. It’s official. I’m the 632,408,607 richest person on earth! How rich are you? >>

So maybe looking at this and seeing that there are more than 600 million people richer than me isn’t exactly the sobering thought. The sobering thought is that I am in the top 10 (or so) percent in the world by making less than $30,000 a year …

I always take my journal (that is, the for-real pen and ink version) along to the Christmas Cantata at the church. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the voices … of the choir (I just know MG and K-tizzle were thinking it was the voices in my head). Maybe it’s the low light of the sanctuary. I don’t know, but something always sparks a train of thought that just has to be written down immediately or it is lost for eternity.

So I had just written something down about the cross at the front of the sanctuary (which I may turn into a post at some point) when I looked up at the stage to see the Nativity scene as enacted by a group of young ‘uns between (I think) fourth to seventh grade. Something didn’t look quite like the usual Christmas card scene. What is it? Hmmm. Manger? Check. Everyone in head scarves? Check. Baby? Wait … that’s it … the baby!

In most nativity scenes, the baby is in the manger or being held by an appropriately adoring Mary, calm and serene even after giving birth without any help in a nasty, dark, damp stable (but that may be a post for another time). In the scene playing out before me, Joseph was holding the baby!

Oh, and it didn’t end there. Joseph looked over at one of the shepherds and seemed to say something. Then he handed the baby over to him.

That’s right. That’s how it should be, I thought. These crazy shepherds trooped in from the fields at the angel’s announcement to find the baby just as the angel said they would. Are we to think these ruffians (because that really is what shepherds at the time of Jesus were) just walked in calmly and full of appropriate piety? Of course not.

In fact, if you think about it, you can almost hear them yelling “Hey! Anyone in here?”, “Would ya look at that?”, “In the manger, well, if that don’t beat all.”, “Dang! What’s that smell?” (they were in a stable, after all). You can picture them bumbling into the stable with all the grace of a three-legged cow, bumping into each other, tripping now and again as they all try to squeeze through the entrance.

Then, they stop. Their voices grow quieter. They see the baby. The manger. The mother. Joseph. Maybe, just maybe one of them says, almost shyly, “Can I hold him?”

Maybe Mary nods and gently holds the baby out to this man with the rough hands. For a moment, he looks into the face of eternity and is forever changed.

This Christmas, may our voices grow quieter and may reach out a hand to Him and see our lives forever changed.