Christmas Eve PostChristmas Eve. The day before Christmas. Seven days before the final day of the year that was. Eight before the cycle begins anew. Can’t wait. Can’t wait for all of this to be over. Day after day after day after day, putting on my grave shroud, following the Master into the big, scary Unknown that is my mortal existence. No complaints. No remorse. No regrets.

Truth be told, Christmas and winter are held in my heart as the darkest, most Gothic season of the year. No, not Halloween silly. Halloween is happy fun time. Amateur night for the Normals. No, Christmas and winter are when I feel the most alive, where I see with vivid realness the beauty of death, the true gift it is been given us from up on high. The quiet dark as the snow falls silently to the earth. The chill that grabs your bones. As my breath escapes in faint wisps of vapor, I am reminded of my mortality. And I praise the Lord Jesus for this season of death. For without death, there is no rebirth. His Spirit is what makes me alive. The closer I get to Him, the more I see the beauty in the dark and and still death that surrounds us.

Merry Christmas, one and all.

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