Lonny, the boys, and I are gathered in the living room. The evening has been saved for together time. No running. No rush. Christmas day has passed, but we want to stretch the season.
Samuel has his guitar and soon he’ll play. Gabriel has been working to master some Christmas songs on the piano, too. We have a few song books and it will be fun to sing along. Isaiah wants to read aloud, and a Christmas book rests on his lap.
For a few moment’s it’s still. I know, from being the mama of many, that this quietness is a thin thread. It will soon snap. There will be chatter. Laughter. Noise. The older boys, Logan and Grant, will try to quiet the younger ones, but after a bit, we’ll all join in.
But for now, it’s quiet and Samuel begins to play. The pure, simple sound stirs me. Isaiah moves from his wing chair and settles on my lap.
And I have a moment to study the sweet faces of my boys.
This year has brought many changes. Logan graduated college this month. Grant graduated high school, too. The other boys have changed in size and stature and interests and circumstance.
There have been wonderful, celebratory things. But there have been new concerns, too. Things I’ve worried over. Fears that have hit hard.
But as I sit, close with my family, while Samuel strums, it all seems very clear.
Christmas is a light of hope.
The saving-gift of Jesus shines light to all dark places.
It’s light to wash over my worries.
It’s light to stretch deep into corners of uncertainty.
It’s light to lead our paths.
It’s light that shines over any stained circumstance or any gray shadow of fear.
And hope, when applied to all the circumstances of my life, brings relief and joy.
It’s Gabriel’s turn to play. He takes his place at the piano, and I’m touched by tenderness. He plays “Joy to the World” in beginner plink-plink-plink.
My heart is full.
The light of Christmas changes everything.
May it shine brightly into the New Year.
