At this Christmas season I find much in the world to sorrow over. But at the same time, I realize that darkness has not overshadowed everything. There is still an abundance of goodness performed by human hands; kind, humble acts that offer light and comfort to those who choose to see and acknowledge these sweet and quiet deeds.
It is no secret that a gift I consider dear to my heart is the magic of storytelling. I am inspired by how time-and-again the reciting of a simple tale effectively hushes a room, how it draws out a smile on somber lips and adds a curious spark to the eager eyes of listeners. I love stories. I do. And so, as a gift as well as a small addition to good things in this world, I post this Christmas story for all to read.
Through my window I see the first star of the evening, which I pause to make a wish upon. A wish for worldwide longing to live peaceably, for softened hearts among all nations, and for the jolliest spirits to attend to us this Christmas season.
Be good. Be nice. Be happy. Enjoy this Christmas story.
About Christmas
Dedicated to my children.
My identity is not important—age, gender, or ethnicity. The
year and circumstances make little difference either, other than to know it was
a cold Christmas night when this miracle occurred in my life. And though the
memories are distinctly mine, vivid and unforgettable as if years had never
passed since their transpiring, I sincerely hope through this retelling of
events you will acquire every thread of understanding I gained in a remarkable
moment of truth.
It was cold enough to snow, yet warm enough to melt every
flake that touched the ground. I sat outside on my front porch, bundled in the
warmest wrap I could find. Inside, the sounds of merriment tickled my ears—a
celebration of Christmas among friends and family. I was missing their exchange
of homemade gifts, having put no thought or effort into the task. Christmas
didn’t thrill me like it seemed to for so many others. And as I sat in the
darkness staring up at the twinkling aura of a particularly bright star, I
wondered for what reason exactly this holiday existed.
I pulled the wrap more snugly around my shoulders while
contemplating a string of traditions practiced yearly at this time. What was
the big deal about observing silly rituals? Why the extra jollity and efforts
this time of year?
What was Christmas all about?
I’m not sure how to explain what happened next, only that
everything seemed quite natural in its occurrence. The shimmering star that had
locked my eyes upon it—a celestial light I knew to exist far, far from my
world—suddenly changed perspective, appearing within my sight as if it hovered
above me at an arms throw. I blinked a number of times thinking my focus would
return to normal and the star would once again hang sensibly in the heavens. Instead,
every flitter of my lashes produced a change in the star that revealed with
decreasing brightness a male figure centered within the light. He was beautiful
beyond description—white, radiant, and smiling down upon me. The thought occurred that I had passed on to the afterlife.
Perhaps unawares to my conscious self, I had frozen in the cold and suffered
death. Was this radiant being God?
The man’s smile broadened as if he found amusement in my thoughts,
and I worried he could actually read them. Anxiety made me sink lower, pulling
the woolen wrap up over my hair. The blanket warmed me, and so I doubted I was
dead.
“Fear not,” the man said in the softest voice ever to
caress my ears. “Your prayer has been heard.” I assumed then he was an angel. To
think God would personally come for me was a highly vain notion.
The smiling messenger reached out his hand, and I stared at
it, wondering how light appeared to radiate from every inch of his skin. It
turned out he stood even closer to me than I had first perceived. I blinked
again, disturbed by the way distance seemed an incalculable thing in my eyes.
“Fear not,” he repeated. “Take my hand.”
Stunned by all the unusualness there was to perceive, I
asked, “You heard my prayer?” My forehead tightened at the idea. I didn’t
recall offering a prayer.
Suddenly, his radiant palm was pressed against my chest. “In
here,” the angel explained. “He knows all your heart’s desires.”
I wasn’t sure whether to attribute it to the glowing touch
of an angel or the knowledge that God actually knew me, but a warmth beyond any
physical source consumed my chest. All my fears dissipated.
Again a hand was extended to me in offer, and I took hold.
As inept as I had proven myself at perceiving distances, it
seemed time and travel also elected to bewilder my senses. For I knew we were
in motion, and yet my discernment was of the world revolving around me and my
heavenly guide. A whirlwind of chaos encircled us, slowing within a blink to a
nighttime sky. I noticed one difference among the stars—a brighter light shone
above the others, penetrating the darkness more effectively than any star I had
ever witnessed.
“Christmas,” the angel breathed, following my gaze upward.
“This is Christmas?” I wondered. “Is this what Christmas is
about? A star?”
The angel smiled. “Not entirely.” He continued to look up.
“Is it about Heaven?” I asked, broadening my guess.
He flickered a glance at me with his beautiful, bright
eyes. “Not entirely.”
I watched him as he watched the heavens, the two of us
still holding hands, for I was afraid if I attempted to sever our bond I might
fall to the ground which we presently hovered above. It wasn’t my intent to
gawk at him, but withdrawing my eyes proved a difficult thing until something
more amazing than a celestial companion lured my focus skyward again.
Singing, rich and harmonic and penetrating, affected me
first. Such beautiful carols I had never heard before. As my eyes swept across
a choir of angels, I held my breath in awe. They were singing hymns of joyous
praise. Carols of a newborn king—the Christ child.
I listened silently, my heart affected so profoundly as to
bring tears to my eyes. The whole time my guide squeezed my hand, beaming. It
wasn’t until the choir began to fade that I noticed a meager audience of sheep
and shepherds gathered beneath them, witnessing what I saw.
Then we were all at once standing among the shepherds,
mingled in their numbers as if we belonged with them. I could understand their
acceptance of me, being wrapped in a woolen blanket that resembled their draped
attire, but I knew not why my companion received no incredulous looks. Perhaps
because of the messenger angel above?
“Fear not. For behold I bring you good tidings of great
joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of
David, a Savior which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; ye
shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.”
After a final chorus of praise, the angels went away. I was
sad to see them go, to have their inspiring music no longer permeating the
atmosphere. Naturally, I sighed at such a stark loss.
My glorious companion sighed likewise. “Ahhh, Christmas.”
I nodded. “Is this what Christmas is about? Singing carols
and songs of heavenly praise?”
The angel smiled kindly at me. “Not entirely.”
“Is it about the message then? Is Christmas about heralding
Christ’s birth?”
I was given another patient smile. “Not entirely.”
We separated from the shepherds, our feet touching the
ground now, taking steps on a dirt road. I felt secure enough to let go of my
companion’s hand. He released my fingers readily. Our walk remained quiet;
hushed but for the nocturnal sounds of herding country. I pondered the things
that had transpired—the message delivered by heavenly hosts to humble, poor
shepherds willing and ready to hear. This was the first Christmas. This was
Christ’s birthday. What else would Christmas be about if not Him?
I had taken a few steps beyond my angel guide when I
realized he was no longer at my side. Turning back, my eyes opened up, aroused
from my deep, inner reflecting. We were standing in the shadows of a lowly
stable. Stone, wood, and straw were arranged as shelter for docile animals. A
small light shone from within, sustained by a single candle. I squinted to make
out two silhouettes that appeared joined. Mother and baby.
I couldn’t help but ask, whispering, “Is it Him?”
The angel nodded, his smile tempered by reverence.
“This is the first Christmas,” I said, making sure my
understanding of events was correct.
The angel nodded again, concentrating on the newborn child.
“Christmas is about the baby, Jesus.” I declared.
The angel’s smile reappeared as a result of my certainty. “Not
entirely.”
I crumpled my brow, frustrated, but a large shadow
distracted my attention, appearing from the back of the stable. A man
approached and knelt beside the mother and child. His arm fell gently around
the woman, his free hand careful to cup the baby’s head. He leaned in to kiss
his wife. The picture touched my heart.
“Is Christmas about family?” I asked.
I mouthed the echoed response. “Not entirely.”
My eyes flickered from the forms beside a manger to my
companion. It was strange that his brilliance didn’t light the darkness within
the stable. But what hadn’t proved
strange thus far? I was about to question his definition of “entirely” when the scuffing of
collected footfall caught my ear. I twisted my neck to find strangers
approaching—shepherds in rags and sandals followed by men garbed in finer,
richer fabrics.
“The wise men?” I guessed.
My companion nodded.
I watched as the visitors cautiously approached, waiting
for permission from the stable’s occupants to come close enough to witness the
Christ child. I wanted a closer look myself and followed the others across a
carpet of strewn straw. I watched the wise men kneel to place gifts at the
mother’s feet. She appeared truly grateful.
“Is Christmas about gifts?” I asked. It was a holiday
tradition spanning the ages, to be sure.
“Not entirely.”
The mother, a pretty young woman, held up her baby for all
to see. His features were glowing in the candlelight. He was asleep. Adorable. He
appeared so tiny and fragile, snugly wrapped in a single blanket.
“He came to save the world,” the angel told me. “To suffer
and die for all of us.”
I nodded, aware of the truth.
“Is that what Christmas is about?” I asked. “Christ’s
purpose? His suffering and death?”
There was no smile on the angel’s face when he turned to
me, only gravity in his eyes. “Not entirely.”
I sighed. What in the world was Christmas about then? I
thought of the few Christmases I had celebrated in my own lifetime—gathered
around family, singing carols, exchanging gifts, retelling the story of our
Savior’s humble birth, rehearsing by heart the angel’s tidings of joy to the
shepherds. Was this not what Christmas was about?
When the others stepped back, I knelt before the new
mother, questioning her with my eyes as to whether or not it would be okay to
touch her child. She smiled with understanding and held him out to me, offering
the chance to cradle the babe in my arms. I couldn’t make myself do it. To hold
my savior was a privilege I was unworthy to accept. I yearned, though, to at
least touch him. With a trembling reach, I let my hand fall gently against his
cheek, so soft and warm. I feared for a moment my touch might be too cold, but
the baby stirred and turned his face toward me, his little nose nuzzling in my
palm. I exhaled raggedly and chuckled at this. My breathing stopped entirely
when his eyes opened up.
He looked right at me.
I couldn’t turn away, even when my sight blurred with
tears. His tiny fingers moved to wrap around my one, clasping on. Behind him, I
caught his mother’s smile as she assured me, “He loves you.”
I bawled like a baby at her words because I knew they were
true. His life, his actions—they proved it to be so.
It took some time to regain my composure before I could
speak again. My companion waited patiently for my eyes to dry. He was nodding
before I even asked the question.
“Is Christmas about love?”
“It is.”
As my angel guide departed to take his place in the
heavens, I found myself once again seated on the porch outside my own house. I looked
up in time to catch a shooting star. The laughter of friends and family carried
to me from inside. Rising to go join them (wondering what the chances were they
would believe my miraculous story) I heard the truth proclaimed in the
quietest, piercing voice. Words of a loving Father. Words I resolved that very
Christmas night to forever abide.
“For I so loved the world that I gave my only begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. Love
one another, even as I have loved you.”
This story is from "Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year".
