On a Christmas path, 5 pm
Behind us the path was barely lit, black, wet, and chill. In the slowly flowing Presumpscot, white and golden squares of light cast by houses broke and repaired their symmetry in a beauty that prompted “Hallelujah! Thank you, Jesus!” in my brain. Might have uttered it; sometimes beauty pulls that out of my lips. But we turned back on the trail, discouraged by the darkness and uncertainty ahead; also lured by the bright colors and spirited voices of children in the park.
This way, the path feels like Christmas, that is, what we hope we will receive from Christmas, from You. Gifts, surprises, delight, love, connections—comfort and joy. As several cars passed down the same road where we walked, I realized the distraction required in taking care not to get hit. Even mumbled, “Watch out for us, Lord, All of us. Drivers too.”
The season of joy seems not so long and certainly not uninterrupted by dark, ugly business attached to a load of drama. I watch loved ones hypnotized for hours, staring at screens with tragedies unfolding in, to me, nauseating repetition. But I don’t say much to stop them. Their choice, I think, with pity and a headwag. Sometimes I join in, stupidly rationalizing, “At least it’s not gladiatorial games.”
Lord, forgive me my foibles and excuses. They are often a source of humor to me, probably to ameliorate the intolerable. Which is another excuse I’m making. Show us all—me, my darlings, the myriad strangers—a righteous path of goodness. IJN
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