And there's something about snow that softens the world and the back-to-reality blow of the coming year of activity.
But despite the lack of a white blanket under my feet muffling the noise, I've stolen away for some quiet.
As I've grown older, this day after Christmas has become more sacred to me than the 25th of the last month in the calendar year.
Some would gasp at the thought.
Christmas Day is a holy day. One that we hold in our hearts alongside family and friends. We remember the baby born into nothing. The same nothingness that we found ourselves in until He took his first breath in this dark and long-weary world.
We celebrate in gathering at our tables and bowing our heads. In exchanging gifts and smiles while raising a glass. It is as it should be.
But in this, the day after--our hearts are quieted. The wrapping paper lies open and the dishes are piled high. Yesterday's steaming mugs are scattered and the laughter has faded.
So I've got my feet tucked under me and my dog beside me and I've been thinking on another Christmas past and all of its fullness.
But the best part?
The clock struck midnight into December 26th. And we still find ourselves rejoicing.
This day after marks the beginning of the end of despair and death. It is this day we know that the Love who came for us is Immanuel who does not flee after a day set apart on the calendar.
He has found us in the darkness of a world without the dawn of a Christmas morning and has made it so we may never know it again. This is where the remembering begins. And in remembering Him, who we were before fades with another Christmas Day.
With every Christmas past we are left with nothing but an ever-present Savior.
And so we are left with everything.
"A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost - how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.
This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home."
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost - how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.
This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home."
-GK Chesterton
