Then there’s the lantern-carrying child my mum gave me the Christmas my first child was born, which hangs in the same tree with one of the first decorations I ever bought (which, unbeknownst to me, terrified my children for years as, rather than the benevolent Victorian Father Christmas I saw delivering a doll to some lucky child, appeared to them as a red-coat wearing, malevolent child-snatcher.Nevertheless, apparently Christmas would not be the same if the terrifying Santa Claus didn’t make his annual appearance). As I look at my Christmas tree, I hear stories of my life retold in the whispers of loved ones who are no longer here, the echoes of childhoods now out-grown by my now-grown children and in the love of the man who has shared more than half of his life with me. And nothing I imagine could improve the story I hear. And as I peer into the branches that hold such treasures, there is one that never dies, never grows old, never fades, and it’s the story of love that came into the world so that anyone who chooses can live in the light of the One who ignited the stars and overcame the darkest darkness that is death.
Wishing you peace and joy and light this Christmas.