Arise and Shine

Outside the car window, the sky was inky black, the million stars like glitter that spilled across construction paper when we made crafts at school.

I admit to be a dreamy child,

and as I rested my head on the window and watched winter night go by, I longed for white Christmases and magic and something wonderful to happen.

Then something did.

People here would call it a bump in the road.

For flatlanders, it was a hill.

At any rate, it rose tall enough to block the fields beyond it from view, and that qualified it.

Cresting that hill, we could see grey fields stretched like long shadows in the headlights.

Then, in the blackness, there it was.

The tree.

An enormous cedar tree spanning nearly the width of a tiny yard, covered with those fat multicolored lights.

A Christmas tree,

surrounded by darkness

and shouting its message in the middle of nowhere.

It took my breath away.

All these years later, I remember that tree when I drive home from school each day.

On a mountainside (really a mountain, not a quasi-hill) near our home, someone lights a tall cross each Christmas.

A few houses near it have joined the party with lights strung from their rooftops,

but for the most part, it stands alone.

A startling beacon

surrounded by darkness

shouting its message in the middle of nowhere:

“The Light of the World has COME!”

Indeed He has.

And the darkness is not dark anymore.

Be blessed,

Ginger