Christmas Eve was my Grandaddy’s day. He did Christmas Eve up big. From his red cardigan, to the mountain of gifts under the tree, to his reciting of a favorite childhood poem, Jest ‘Fore Christmas, and leading us all in a round or two of Christmas hymns, he loved it all, and his love and joy for this holy night was infectious.
But of all the traditions, the one I will miss most, is hearing him recite Luke 2 from memory, his voice carrying us all away with it’s mixture of belief and awe, as he told us the most wonderful, beautiful story of all.
Merry Christmas friends.
I pray that comfort and joy find you right where you are – in whatever is different and in whatever is the same – this Christmas. May you be filled with belief and awe and wrapped in love.