The Birth of Grace

The nippy wind of past Christmases is missing. As I did my early morning walk, I felt the warm air, making me sweat profusely. It’s certainly different from the wintry first Christmas in Bethlehem.

But there is no stopping the celebration of the birth of Grace.

Ours started in early November by putting up a tree of polka-dotted thingies. Polka dots are festive so I went for them.

“Ma’am, polka dots are lucky; they symbolize money,” the salesman told me as he handed me my dotted ribbons.

“Oh,” I replied, “I want my money in rectangles. Unfortunately, polka dots do not come in that shape.”

His brows flew.

I tapped his shoulder and added, “Believe only in the Reason for the celebration, not superstition.”

“Of course, Ma’am!”

Also in November, my one and only grandchild in the US came home with his parents for a short, too short, visit. We got our family photo done—happily and hurriedly.

“Suddenly, an angel of the Lord appeared among them, and the radiance of the Lord’s glory surrounded them. They were terrified, but the angel reassured them. ‘Don’t be afraid!’ he said. ‘I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people. The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David! And you will recognize him by this sign: You will find a baby wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger.‘” Luke 2:9-14
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