Holy Night

All is quiet in Heaven. Not just quiet. This night is so quiet you can feel it. Hear it. As if all of Heaven and all of Creation is holding its breath.
Muriel, the youngest angel, always curious, always questioning, finds her way to the Great Room and stands boldly before the Throne. There is not a trace of fear in her as she stands in His magnificent Presence.
"Father?"
"Yes, Little One?"
"I know something is happening. Everyone here is shining a little brighter than usual, but no one is speaking. And that star. I've never seen that one before. What is it? What's happening?"
"Something very special. The world will never be the same after tonight."
"Is that good or bad?" she asks.
"It is good."
"Will you tell me about it? May I know it?"
"Certainly, Little One, soon everyone will know it. It is my Son. He is about to be born. Down there, below the star, in that manger."
"Your Son? But he was just here. He's always been HERE. Why are you sending him down there? It's dangerous there, and there is so much the humans don't understand. They may hurt Him."
"I know."
"But that's a stable! He's a King. Why is He being born in a stable? Shouldn't His arrival be a bit more spectacular? Maybe descending from Heaven on a great cloud, with trumpets blaring..."
"All in good time, my Precious."
"I don't understand."
"Right now I need him to come into the world as a baby, the way all humans do. He has to be one of them, has to feel what they feel, experience the same joy, sadness, temptation, pain, grief...."
"Loneliness too?" Muriel asks.
"No. Not loneliness. Because I will always be with Him. As for the stable, it's a fine place to start. He will show the world that it doesn't matter where you were born, or what you own. That's not what counts."
"But why does He have to leave here and go there at all?" Muriel pleads.
"He has a most important job to do. Something only He can do. You see, my people have wandered far away from me, like lost sheep. I need Him to round them up and bring them back to me."
Muriel tilts her head. "Like a shepherd?" she asks.
"Exactly," He says softly. "They've forgotten how it was in the Beginning. They've forgotten that I created them in My own image, and they've gone chasing after meaningless pursuits. My Son will remind them of My Love for them. Show them in ways no one else can. He will Save them. Do you understand, Muriel?"
"Maybe, a little. But why are you doing it? If they've forgotten You, why not forget them too?"
"Because I love them." He says, and sighs.
"But will they listen? Will they follow Him?" Muriel is skeptical.
"Many will. And those that do must tell the others, and with their very lives, show the world what He has taught them. None of it is easy, Muriel, but it must be done."
They are both silent for a long moment. Then a sound rips the air, a sound so startling Muriel jumps a foot. The sound grows louder and louder until it reverberates though all the Halls of Heaven, filling the Universe. It is the unmistakable wail of a baby's cry. Muriel's eyes grow wide. "That's Him!" she cries. In this very moment, suddenly the Angel Chorus begins to sing, a thousand voices proclaiming "Allejujah, He is Come!" A squadron of Messenger Angels swoops down on a field where shepherds are tending their flock, and gives to them the Good News. All of Creation resounds with the Joy of this most Holy Moment.
Muriel bows low before the Throne, and simply says, "Thank you, Father." Then in an instant she is gone to join all the Heavenly Host in the Celebration.
The Father listens to all of it. The chorus, the harps, the shouting, the Baby's cry. Then he closes His eyes, settles back, and whispers, "It has begun."

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MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A HOLY NIGHT.
With Love, From Marcy

Diamonds In My Garden

As I sit on our lanai this morning looking at our pretty little garden, I see a newly sprouted plant, and on one of its leaves the sun is glinting off something that can only be a drop of water. It's shining as brightly as a diamond. And it's only a drop of water. God's gifts are so precious A diamond and a drop of water look exactly the same from a few feet away.

A Visit To Remember

I'm depressed. Yesterday I had the best hair day of my life. It will never be that perfect again. I almost wish I hadn't had it. Now every other hair day will pale in comparison to it. I'm doomed to a lifetime of almost-my-best-hair-days. Sure enough, this morning... it's gone. Oh well.

Just kidding about the depressed thing. Actually I'm pretty happy. My husband and I just returned from a pre-Christmas visit with our kids and grandkids. (Well, the truth is, they're his two daughters, but I get to claim them a little too, because they've known me most of their lives, and even lived with us on and off. They love me, I love them.) We only live a few hours away, but our work schedule at Christmas won't allow a nice Christmas visit this year, so we went early. But it really feels like we've had our Christmas now. We exchanged gifts, we watched the older daughter put up her Christmas tree, and the younger daughter had hers up too. And we thoroughly enjoyed the company of our two teenage granddaughters, who are just the coolest young women now. But the real entertainment came with the two-year old granddaughter. We found out from her mom that she kept pointing at a Barbie guitar in a catalog and saying, "Thank you Mommy, thank you Mommy." Apparently this went on pretty much nonstop. So we bought the guitar. When my my ever-alert husband went to buy it, he also noticed a pair of pink cowboy boots in her size, so naturally who could resist? She loves shoes more than Oprah does. So we couldn't wait to see the reaction to both. WELL.....we gave her the boots package first. She barely ripped the paper off one end of the box and she got all rigid the way little kids do and started squealing "Shoes! Shoes! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!". We couldn't figure out how she knew what they were from seeing about 3 square inches of cardboard, but she knew. Well, the pink boots went on her feet, and as far as I know, they're still there today. So next was the guitar. You can imagine that scene. More squealing and "Guitar! MY GUITAR! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!" After finally extricating it from its packaging, her daddy helped her put it on properly and showed her how she should hold it. Well let me tell you, the Barbie guitar doesn't play the Farmer in the Dell. It plays licks like Keith Richards. You touch a string, or a button and it's rock n' roll baby. But the best was yet to come. It comes with a head set microphone that you plug into the guitar and it amplifies your voice. Once we figured out how that went on her and how it worked, she was loaded for bear. She got the rhythm going on the guitar, then figured out that when she spoke it was amplifed, so she started singing made-up songs loudly and without a semblance of melody. She did this for awhile with her feet planted in one position. Then, (and I think I actually saw a light bulb go on over her head) she began WALKING AROUND, playing and singing. It was like she was born for this. But it wasn't enough for HER to walk around by herself. She went over to my husband, who up to now had been sitting comfortably on the couch, laughing his butt off saying "I can die happy now", and pointed at him straight-armed and commanded, "Grandpa! DANCE!!" Then she came to me, "Grandma, DANCE!" And so on until everyone in the room --Mommy, Daddy, Grandpa, Grandma, cousins, Auntie etc. - was up dancing while she strutted around like Chuck Berry singing her little heart out. It was a scene. This two-year-old had taken complete control of the room. But then, I guess that's what two-year-olds do for a living.

I'm still basking in the afterglow of a wonderful family visit. I've had my temporary fix of good quality time with my "daughters" and grandchildren. Not to mention the fabulous home-cooked meal of meatballs, sausage and pasta, prepared by one of the daughters. She's a throwback to the old Italian mamas. Except that she's young and adorable and thin. Go figure. The other daughter is also beautiful, and a gifted hair stylist. She had to keep reassuring me that my new longer hair style was "perfect". I become all insecure and needy around these young, beautiful women. "Do you really like it? How's the color? Really? Do you think I should trim it here?" Thankfully, they're patient with me.

So I feel as if I've already had my Christmas, and my wish for everyone is that they have an equally wonderful holiday. Unlike the "best hair day", I'm not worried that there will never be as good a Christmas as this one. I know they'll just keep getting better and better.