Perhaps one of the reasons
we get lost in all the hoopla
of Christmas
rather than quietly reflect
on what it means
to each of us
and all of us
this particular year
is because
it’s too big,
so simple,
it’s hard to grasp
and because thinking about it
at all
requires us to look at ourselves
and the need we have
that Christmas addresses.
It’s easier to get exhausted,
over-extended,
over-indulged
and/or,
depressed.
I had a few moments alone
this morning
after the gifts were wrapped,
the house decorated.
New votives waited in the windows.
Tree lights were ready
to be plugged in.
There will, finally,
be golden light.
Festive food ingredients were gathered.
Family and friends’ arrival time
established.
Preparations at church
completed.
And so I looked out on a frosty,
sunny, still prairie
which I would soon step into
to break ice,
feed animals,
and as I watched the birds,
I took a moment to ask
that place deep inside me
where Love and Truth and Beauty co-exist:
What gift, Christmas,
this year?

All lay still
(except the birds,
and a very fluffy gray cat.)
The cattle across the road
stood and lay unmoving
in the sun,
as if frozen.
All lay silent
(except the birds.)
Expectancy.
Peace.
Love.
“Let it come.”