Christmas Eve

For some reason, most probably my contrary nature, I've always liked Christmas Eve more than Christmas Day. 

It's always been so magical, even when I was grown and living in places where there wasn't a prayer of a snowflake to make it wintery, lovely, crisp, and white.

It's something so intangible, a promise hanging in the air that has always filled my heart and given me pause to savor it.

To drink in the deep spiritual warmth of being on this night of all nights.

When I worked downtown, I used to love nothing so much as closing up the store and walking back to the car on those quiet Pensacola streets with all the beautiful Christmas lights twinkling on the old buildings - the last few diners saying 'goodnight' as they left the restaurants, which were closing early.

Everyone had those smiles, holding hands, waving to friends, waving to strangers, and wishing them 'Merry Christmas.'

You could tell everyone felt it.

Being home is best on Christmas Eve. It's a wee bit bittersweet, though, if I allow myself to give in to it. While major dad and I are always now home, Ebola is not - it always seems as if one of us is meant to be overseas on this night.

I try not to be a sap.

But the different colors of the treelights still play on the ceiling the same way in a darkened livingroom, and when Ebola calls from England, I am grateful we can show him. And while we're watching Donovan's Reef or Christmas in Connecticut, he still remembers all the lines and blurts them out.

Tomorrow will be chaos, with Dr Alice and my precious brother-in-law coming for that traditional Welborn prime rib dinner. Lots of noise, food, wine, and love.

This afternoon, once I'm done here, I'm busy. Happy busy.

Shrimps to peel, something to figure out for dessert...stuff. Always stuff to do.

And tonight I let it all sink in - the quiet. That magical quiet.

Watching the lights on the ceiling in the still of it.

I want to wish you all, our dear readers, a most wonderful, safe, and warm Christmas. You have made my year so very rich with laughter and friendship, and I always learn so much from you.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

I love the picture I always use of the manger scene for the header above - it's from a panel in the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua. Giotto's masterwork. I took it during my first visit to the country when Ebola was stationed there, and have been blessed to see it since.

Mary's face, looking at her precious boy, has always brought me to tears. She is radiant with love.

It's so beautiful and so simple.

And so profound.

May you all have a moment to savor the quiet, magical promise in this most wonderful of evenings.

God bless you and the Merriest of Christmases to everyone.

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