Well, I've turned in all my work. In the next three hours I must (a)clean the guest room (b)clean the bathroom (c)shower (d)pack (e)leave for the airport. There is something very important missing from that list my friends. It's called SLEEP.
That's what the plane is for, right?
Anyway, I'm off to Wisconsin to celebrate Christmas with my family. I love going home for Christmas because I love the Christmas Eve service at our church. (Although last Christmas Eve at my in-laws was pretty great. In case they're reading this: This one goes out to my amigos at Table #5. But 2 years ago, it was a Planes, Trains, and Automobiles type scenario to get me home in time to get to church. And we made it. Our luggage went to a different local airport, but we got home in just enough time to eat some food, steal a nice outfit off my sister and go to service.
I was raised Unitarian Univeralist and every Christmas Eve there are two readings that remain consistent, each read by children in the congregation (I will never forget the Christmas Eve I read.) The first is the opening to Luke: And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed...)
We also read this, which is my Poetry Friday offering:
Each Night a Child is Born
For so the children come
and so they have been coming.
Always in the same way they came—
Born of the seed of man and woman.
No angels herald their beginnings.
No prophets predict their future courses.
No wise men see a star to show where to find
The babe that will save humankind.
Yet each night a child is born is a holy night.
Fathers and mothers—
Sitting beside their children’s cribs—
Feel the glory in the sight of a new life beginning.
They ask “Where and how will this new life end?
Or will it ever end?”
Each night a child is born is a holy night—
A time for singing—
A time for wondering—
A time for worshipping.