It’s Christmas Eve…
many, many, many years ago.
There’s no snow in the air, but there IS a certain magic, dancing in the dark night skies outside our bedroom window. We have our noses scrunched against the glass. And we’re peering out, into the blackness, my siblings and I.
And suddenly a cry goes up:
I see it! I see it!
And we all squint into the night and squeal in excitement. Father Christmas is on his way. We just saw the light on his sleigh.
My dad was the master of fun. It was his idea to look out for Santa’s light on Christmas Eve. And since we lived on a hill overlooking the busy town of Wigan, there were always a thousand lights twinkling and dancing outside. I’m pretty sure we all had our eyes on different lights, but it didn’t matter. The magic was worked. My dad’s ulterior motive was achieved. Father Christmas wouldn’t come if we were all awake. We jumped into bed and pulled the covers over our heads and fell asleep with hope: Father Christmas was coming.
i love to fall asleep with hope. And wake up with it. And clutch it tight. Hope is God’s greatest gift…
But God’s hope doesn’t ride in a fancy sleigh.
It’s all wrapped up in a little bundle, nestled in a simple manger.
But it’s TRUE hope for the future, hope for things unseen, hope when all seems hopeless.
May all of us experience that hope this Christmas as we watch and wait for the light… the one true light that shines in the darkness.