It’s late on December 24th and Christmas Eve 2015
is quickly drawing to a close. Carols have filled my house for the last couple
of weeks, not the Rudolf, Santa Baby, and jolly old Saint Nick kind, but the ones
that tell of the truer, deeper meaning of the holiday – Silent Night, Hark the
Herald Angels Sing, Little Drummer Boy.
The music whispers peace and joy in the background, but my
mind is focused in a far different direction.
O holy night the stars are
brightly shining
It is the night of our dear Savior's birth
It is the night of our dear Savior's birth
I’m focused on frustrating circumstances that have plagued
my life over the last several months. I’m not talking ISIS or the Middle East or Terrorists. I’m talking about home, my
backyard. I’m talking family. I’m talking friends.
Said the night wind to the
little lamb,
do you see what I see
Way up in the sky, little lamb
do you see what I see
Way up in the sky, little lamb
The music whispers to me, but my
heart feels frustration and discouragement and, yes, more than just a touch of
anger. It churns in my gut. It’s a bitter taste.
Angels we have heard on high
Sweetly singing o'er the plains,
And the mountains in reply
Echoing their joyous strains.
My music and calendar tell me it’s Christmastime. They speak
to me of a holy time, a joyous time, and I suddenly feel my hypocrisy. Christmas
calls to me to refocus my heart. It wants my heart. God wants my heart. My
friends deserve my heart.
Little baby
Pa rum pum pum pum
I am a poor boy too
Pa rum pum pum pum
Pa rum pum pum pum
I am a poor boy too
Pa rum pum pum pum
I have no gift to bring
Pa rum pum pum pum
That's fit to give our king
Pa rum pum pum pum
That's fit to give our king
And I’m left with nothing more than this timeless simple message
. . .
Merry and blessed Christmas to one and all. --Mark