"For unto us a child is born..."
Thoughts from the Editor
December 25, 2020
Sheila Harris
I think I’m finally catching on to the reason why people like Christmas. Heretofore – before COVID – Christmas and other winter holidays offered excuses for gatherings, for parties, for non-social-distancing in general. There were options available for fending off the sometimes gloomy and portentous thoughts that arrive with darkness. I’m introverted at times, but social isolation has its limits, even for me – especially during the winter.
In a good year, I tend to struggle with depression when the days become shorter. I’m old enough now to recognize the pattern. When night encroaches, the walls and ceiling begin to close in and a 7 p.m. bedtime sounds pretty good, along with the food I consider ingesting to tide me over until spring.
In 2020, the pall has hit harder: in part, I suspect, because another decade has rolled over on my calendar and I’m more aware of the brevity of life. People I’ve known most of my life are leaving it, or they’re facing debilitating illnesses and injuries.
From my desk, I’m privy to much information. I listen to reports of calamities and feel helpless to make a difference.
The one thing I can do is wear a mask. It’s a small thing, and maybe not perfectly effective, but it’s concrete. It’s something I’ve been able to do even as I’ve watched the nation sinking like The Pequod under the behemoths of political division and the effects of a pandemic.
Yes, I’m disillusioned. How can a thinking person not be?
It’s tempting to crawl into the cave behind my house and remain until things get better, or until I get hungry.
I do have this hope, though, a beautiful one (actually more than just one).
Unto us - unto my family - a child has been born: a girl.
She lit up my world when she made her arrival 13-months ago, as did her brother 18 years before her. This little girl, a tiny replica of her mother, claps when she sees me. I don’t know about you, but it’s not often these days that someone applauds when I arrive. In fact, I think she’s the first. It’s pretty heady stuff.
This grandbaby brought new life to this aging heart that, as of late, has often been weary. Children do that, I’ve discovered. They bring joy, they bring hope for the future, and they bring the possibility of redemption from our pasts, because we expect they'll accomplish greater things than we have.
Desired children enter the world bearing this weight. They don’t know that, of course. If they did, they might run away in fear from our high expectations. (Or perhaps that’s the very reason some of them do run.)
I know a story of a child who didn’t run. It’s a story worth reading: “For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a savior… (Luke 2:11 KJV).”
The metaphors for the entrance of Jesus into the world are many, but the word “light” enters into most of them.
Merry Christmas to all of you! May you enjoy it through the eyes of a child, and may that child – inner or outer - scatter the darkness of your December!
Sheila Harris
I think I’m finally catching on to the reason why people like Christmas. Heretofore – before COVID – Christmas and other winter holidays offered excuses for gatherings, for parties, for non-social-distancing in general. There were options available for fending off the sometimes gloomy and portentous thoughts that arrive with darkness. I’m introverted at times, but social isolation has its limits, even for me – especially during the winter.
In a good year, I tend to struggle with depression when the days become shorter. I’m old enough now to recognize the pattern. When night encroaches, the walls and ceiling begin to close in and a 7 p.m. bedtime sounds pretty good, along with the food I consider ingesting to tide me over until spring.
In 2020, the pall has hit harder: in part, I suspect, because another decade has rolled over on my calendar and I’m more aware of the brevity of life. People I’ve known most of my life are leaving it, or they’re facing debilitating illnesses and injuries.
From my desk, I’m privy to much information. I listen to reports of calamities and feel helpless to make a difference.
The one thing I can do is wear a mask. It’s a small thing, and maybe not perfectly effective, but it’s concrete. It’s something I’ve been able to do even as I’ve watched the nation sinking like The Pequod under the behemoths of political division and the effects of a pandemic.
Yes, I’m disillusioned. How can a thinking person not be?
It’s tempting to crawl into the cave behind my house and remain until things get better, or until I get hungry.
I do have this hope, though, a beautiful one (actually more than just one).
Unto us - unto my family - a child has been born: a girl.
She lit up my world when she made her arrival 13-months ago, as did her brother 18 years before her. This little girl, a tiny replica of her mother, claps when she sees me. I don’t know about you, but it’s not often these days that someone applauds when I arrive. In fact, I think she’s the first. It’s pretty heady stuff.
This grandbaby brought new life to this aging heart that, as of late, has often been weary. Children do that, I’ve discovered. They bring joy, they bring hope for the future, and they bring the possibility of redemption from our pasts, because we expect they'll accomplish greater things than we have.
Desired children enter the world bearing this weight. They don’t know that, of course. If they did, they might run away in fear from our high expectations. (Or perhaps that’s the very reason some of them do run.)
I know a story of a child who didn’t run. It’s a story worth reading: “For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a savior… (Luke 2:11 KJV).”
The metaphors for the entrance of Jesus into the world are many, but the word “light” enters into most of them.
Merry Christmas to all of you! May you enjoy it through the eyes of a child, and may that child – inner or outer - scatter the darkness of your December!