Christmas Eve was a little different for us this year. You see, a midnight candlelight church service, ending with the congregation singing "Silent Night" acapella to flaming candles held high has always been "Christmas" to me. Our beautiful, picture-perfect snowfall yesterday changed those plans...
The roads were just too slick to make the forty-five mile drive to our church and those beautiful, heart-opening candles and voices.
We stayed home.
We played games, ate, and read...all wonderful things to do on a snowy night - but nothing that sang of "Silent Night, Holy Night." The night that promised to be extraordinary turned out to be very, very ordinary. My heart was crying into a pillow of disappointment.
Leaving the guys to their books and food, I went to the Dancing Spiral labyrinth in search of the extraordinary. It was hard work slogging through the eight inches of new snow to get to the labyrinth, but oh, was it worth it!
What greeted me was a glowing path and a clear sky filled with bright stars. Like the beauty of a late-night Christmas Eve worship service, it took my breath away...
The eight inches of snow laid on the lights in the gentlest of ways - producing a muted glow like not unlike airport runway lights seen from above. These beautiful lights led me deep inside, much like the flaming candles and voices singing "Silent Night."
I realized, as I walked, that light undergirds our Christmas experiences - and is always there - like the labyrinth lights and stars, even when covered with the snow of the commercialism and "fa-la-la-ing" of the Christmas season.
The light remains, glowing and guiding us into the deepest of Holy places - and as John said, "darkness shall never overcome it."
I hold my candle high - and sing "Alleluia!" in my heart!