The Christmas Story

Every Christmas Eve of my childhood as far back as I can remember, my dad would open the Word and read the Christmas story to us from that beloved old passage, Luke 2.

My mom always had candles everywhere - different, beautiful pieces (nativities, candelabras, sleighs, for example) - so the two main rooms were aglow with soft, flickering candlelight accented by the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. The smell of cinnamon rolls rising in the kitchen wafted through the house. We would listen to Dad read Scripture with familiar, cherished cadence as we sat around him in a circle. Candlelight cocoa and cookies followed, fresh from the dozens we'd made with Mom to enjoy and to share with many people.

These Christmases will always be a treasured part of our beautiful childhood. I got to relive this with my children in 2014 when my parents stayed over Christmas Eve into Christmas Day. I'm so blessed that my children get to share this memory.

Yesterday, my dad read to us again. He had some difficulties, which broke our hearts. Still, even that could not take away the sweetness of what has been a lifetime of this man leading his family in God's Word. Yes, we've grown and changed - sometimes a lot. Even so, we still seek the Babe who came so very many years ago. <3 

<3

Thank you, Dad, for always reading the Christmas story. Thank you, for passing along sustaining faith. Thank you for being the strongest man I have ever met, in years past and still today. I love you forever. I love you for always. As long as I'm living, my Daddy you'll be. :')