The house is all decorated for Christmas.
The halls are decked.
The stockings are hung by the chimney with care.
Christmas music is wafting through the house.

This is my favorite time of year.
There is a sparkle that seems to be sprinkled over everything.
There is an undeniable glow.
There is a palpable spirit of love.

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It was a comedy show hosted by Bill Cosby in the late 1990’s.
It was part of Art Linkletter’s radio show in the 1940’s.
It was the favorite feature of his TV show up until 1969.
Even the name made you smile: Kids Say The Darndest Things.

The premise of the show was to ask children age 3-8 a question.
Their cute, no holds barred answers were classic.
If you listen, really listen; you can still hear honest answers from the lips of a child.

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Our advent candles are in the kitchen.
They rest in a beautiful wood wreath carved with God’s story from Genesis to Revelation.
I purchased it years ago when I had my first child.
We have been lighting the candles each week until Christmas for years.

When my children were small, we did quite a few things to prepare for Christmas.
Besides the advent wreath, lit at dinnertime, we hung a Scripture advent calendar.
Each day the children took turns opening a door which corresponded to the day.
The readers in the family would read the verse to begin our day.

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I opened the blinds this morning and was amazed at the gorgeous full moon.
The full moon, still visible, shining brightly over the snow covered ground.
One side of my house had a spectacular view of the full moon.
The other side of my house faced the gorgeous sunrise.

The moon is simply reflected sunlight.
The moon does not produce light on its own.

Two perspectives from the Creator’s hand.
Two perspectives from my downstairs windows.
Two perspectives in us.

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We have all been there.
I’m sorry, we are not taking any more reservations.
Tickets are sold out!
No vacancy!

It is a horrible feeling, realizing you are too late.
You have the feeling of being passed by.
You second guess your timing.
You kick yourself for not acting sooner.

All of those instances, while frustrating, are not eternally significant.

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I was upstairs when the doorbell rang.
From the top of the stairs, I could see a figure that I didn’t recognize.
I came downstairs, still in my walking clothes and answered the door.

A pleasant face greeted me holding out a gift bag.
She asked my name to make sure I was the person she was seeking.
I bring a gift from Georgia. Merry Christmas.

She told me the giver’s name and I invited her inside.
A dear friend who moved to Georgia years ago was the giver.
The messenger that stood before me was the bearer of good tidings.

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My daughters and I always set aside the second Saturday of December.
That is our mother-daughter day.
Stopping the world and the busyness before Christmas just to be together.
We look forward to it every year.

We have gone to New York and taken a carriage ride around Central Park.
We have seen The Nutcracker ballet performed.
We have spent the evening at Longwood Gardens and been enthralled by the lights.
This year we planned to see the Broadway musical, ELF.

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I went to my daughter’s high school chorus concert the other night.
For over an hour I was delighted with the voices and the music choices.
Young men and women on the brink of adulthood, singing together.

Long black dresses for the women and black suits for the men.
They each exuded class.
They commanded respect and got it from everyone in the audience.

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The kitchen counter is covered with bits of flour and sprinkles.
Cookie cutters, rolling pins, and Hershey kisses are scattered over the center island.
It is cookie baking time.

The house smells delicious.
The smells of Christmas.
The dozens of cookies are for others, not for us.

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