The steam from the mug warms my face. With every breath, the sweet indulgent vapor of cocoa penetrates my body. On the couch, snuggled beneath my mother’s quilt, I am surrounded by a domesticated display of northern lights emanating from the tree adorned with memories past.
It is here that I think about Christmas.
I think about the time I spent selecting each present bought for loved ones. Each gift that is painstakingly decided upon with the hope that the smile displayed at the unveiling of the present matches the joy exploding within my heart.
I think about the tears I will shed over the delight of our children on Christmas morning as they run to the tree to find their anticipated treasures. I am amazed at the rejuvenating power of a child’s laughter, joy and faith in that which can’t be seen.
I think about the food that will be meticulously prepared and the family that will gather to partake of it. Each one, in love with the day, will come in contentment to sit and visit, renewing and strengthening their bond of kinship.
But most of all, I think of a child nestled at the breast of a virgin mother. Born in a manger, born in seclusion, born to be chased, mocked and scorned, yet born a King, born to save, and born to be our greatest gift.
Amidst the dreams of a beautiful Christmas will I rest in the arms of my King. I will hug his neck, kiss his cheek, lie beneath his shadow and offer him my heart, for it is the greatest gift that I can give to the one who gives all things.