A closed heart,
An ugly spot somewhere inside.
So I didn't want to find it,
The answer,
Not for a long time.
Why?
Why doesn't it bother me
To put the Christmas things away?
I was afraid to find
A closed heart,
An ugly spot somewhere inside.
In go the ornaments,
The advent wreath,
Mary and Joseph, manger, stable, carefully wrapped,
Into the box.
Candle holders, pine-cones, lights and stars,
Bells, ox and ass, sheep, camel.
Box sealed, stored.
Yet the heart isn't sad.
Why?
Others seem to moan
At putting away the pretty things,
The little Babe, the humble shepherds,
Colors and crystal.
I was afraid to find
A closed heart,
An ugly spot somewhere inside.
I was afraid,
but I dared to look for the reason.
And it dawned on me this morning:
When the boxes are stored away,
To be opened the next dark season,
They make room for Light.
Light. Life. Warmth.
Because He did come,
And we celebrate it.
He conquered darkness!
His gift remains with us,
Filling the spaces where darkness reigned...
Not so long ago.
Light.
He brought Light. The longer days!
The end of darkness, the knowledge that Winter, again, will soon see its demise.
Thank you for coming every year, Lord,
Bringing Light,
Every Christmas.
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