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A cold, winter wind shivers the line of trees outside
my window, driving autumn’s last leaves down the street. But safe inside,
children sing Christmas into my soul from the stereo, their song a sacrament of
the Love no winter can chill.
Gloria
in excelsis Deo, their voices dance weightless in the
air, echoing the angels’ song, Glory to God in the highest. And though I will
never be able to create such exquisite beauty, my earth-bound heart takes
flight and joins the song of creation, praising the Love who comes to our
lowest places, wraps us in a mantle of mercy and carries us home.
For Christ descends into the pains and losses that
still our gladness to lift us from desolation into the delight of Love’s holy
presence.
The Holy One created us to know the joy that wafts
around, above and within me as children’s voices sing the truth we most need.
Love comes. Love comes to sweep our hearts into joy, no matter how cold the winds
blow.
David L. Miller
1 comment:
I am struggling this year, digging deep to “praise the Love who comes to our lowest places”, as I reminisce about my mother who died of COVID last January, missing her so much I almost can’t breathe.
Today the winter wind is so very cold and at this moment I am not convinced that Love can sufficiently wrap me in a mantle of mercy and will carry me home.
I really dislike the saying, “All hearts come home for Christmas.” It is a Hallmark lie. For all hearts do not come home for Christmas, this year, or ever again.
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