The December flight home was late, long, and lonely as I grieved the unexpected loss of my brother.  Forty-one was too young to die.  I prayed for strength to face his funeral and a Christmas without him.  I had yet to mail cards or finish shopping.  I had not decorated or prepared any goodies for the grandchildren.  I just wanted to go home and crawl under the covers — maybe forever.

After midnight, I finally arrived home.  I looked around in wonder.  My daughter and her family had paid a visit.  They left a sparkling clean house, a mini-lighted tree, and best of all, our family nativity.  The heart of all our holiday traditions, it rested in its usual place of honour — complete with the stable my husband had built nearly thirty-five years earlier.  Every figure was there.  As I knelt, cradling the baby Jesus figurine in my hands, I felt as if Christ himself were cradling me in his arms.  Tears of hope flowed down my cheeks.  I knew that painful days of grief still awaited me but also that my brother was standing in God’s presence.  I would see him again.

Even when grief replaces the cards, cookies, tinsel, and presents, Christmas remains.  For Christmas is the Christ who “is my strength and my defence; . . . my salvation.”

Prayer: Abba Father, thank you for the gift of your Son, for your comfort in loss, and the hope of heaven.  In Jesus’ name. Amen.