Written Christmas Eve.
December 24th. Family has arrived. We have eaten comfort chicken soup and apple pie. The dishes are done, presents wrapped. We have retreated to our resting places. All is calm, perhaps like it was in the stable after Jesus was born but before the arrival of the shepherds and wise men.
I have memories of many Christmases and tonight I miss family members. But I’m content with the solitude after the social time with those who could make it this year. In fact, I wonder if I’ve ever experienced such genuine Christmas solitude before? Regardless, like every year, this is turning out to be the best Christmas ever.
December 24th. Family has arrived. We have eaten comfort chicken soup and apple pie. The dishes are done, presents wrapped. We have retreated to our resting places. All is calm, perhaps like it was in the stable after Jesus was born but before the arrival of the shepherds and wise men.
I have memories of many Christmases and tonight I miss family members. But I’m content with the solitude after the social time with those who could make it this year. In fact, I wonder if I’ve ever experienced such genuine Christmas solitude before? Regardless, like every year, this is turning out to be the best Christmas ever.
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