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Father Christmas
By
Shotgun011

Father Christmas

They said there would be snow for Christmas, but it just kept on raining forming a veil of tears for the virgin birth, as I see that Fir or Pine tree standing there representing a vision of Paradise. Looking like a vision of angel fire in its lights and tinsel, and knowing that children around the world are impatiently counting hours and are tossing and turning restlessly in their beds for that late night visit. For that midnight delivery of presents from Father Christmas, and are probably wondering if they met his checks and balances through the year. As they wonder if they will get what they most desired or something less than desired?

Knowing this to be a time of Giving, Charity, and of Miracles with the closing of the year and the beginning of a new one, as we all promise to try and improve ourselves, or to just wish the new year to be better than the old one was.

All of us having traditions, with some having been recently created and others having been handed down through the years, with some of them are combined. Still knowing that some embrace the real meaning, and others are in celebration of giving as we all do what has been created or handed down, with some keeping their belief and hopes alive in Father Christmas.

Attending St. Patrick's Cathedral and the annual midnight mass, and hoping to feel fortunate to witness a miracle or a vision, during the sacrament of communion. When the transformation takes place, when I can see with the eyes in my heart the forming and birth of Christ. In the midst, the structure of the high mass and through the smell of incense, I am able to witness this through lapsed faith as I pray for those dear to me.

And when leaving in the cold air, and looking to the canopy of Heaven overhead with all seeming to be brand new and clean. As my thoughts drift, back to those restless nights and past Christmases and to focus especially on one when I was sick that Father Christmas came to visit, though I saw him through his disguise as my Grandfather. I still believe in his spirit for that is part of the season.

On the way, back from the Cathedral, I think of the short story in "Long After Midnight" by Ray Bradbury called The Wish in which one wish is granted for an hour. And wishing I could call someone back and tell them I love them. Yet, I know that they are looking down and watching over all from Heaven.

Copyright 2003: Timberwolf International LTD.


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