O Holy Night

          I awoke this morning to the sound of rain pelting against my window.  It was, as they say in Oz, bucketing down.  The mountains, usually visible from my bedroom, were shrouded in thick mist, the trees in my backyard were being swayed by the strong wind…it looked like winter had set in.  And since it was heading towards the end of December, that would be a fair assumption.  Except I live in Hawaii, and while the rain was quite heavy today, the temperature stayed in the high 70’s.  No chance of snow for Christmas here.

          But, since I grew up in a country where Christmas is celebrated in the middle of summer, and there are more people at the beach trying to keep cool on Christmas Day than slaving over a hot stove at home, Christmas heat is not unusual for me. 

          And no, Christmas in Australia is not celebrated in July!  Believe me, I was once asked that question by someone who had never left the mainland United States…and with a completely straight face too.

          But Christmas isn’t about weather.  Although those first mornings after a snowfall, with the sun glistening on the new icicles dripping from the trees, is quite breathtaking…it doesn’t make it Christmas.  Nor do the parades down the main street, with Santa waving to the crowds, or families piling up the loot under a beautifully decorated tree make it Christmas.

          Christmas to me is the children.  From remembering that first little baby born in a stable so long ago and acknowledging why we celebrate the season, to seeing the faces of the kids in my neighborhood, walking from house to house, singing carols at the tops of their voices, Christmas is such a special time of the year.

          And so it was that I was wandering around the stores, buying the final bits and pieces for the traditional family get together and listening to the excited chatter of children as they ran around pointing out things of interest to their parents, when I stopped to listen to the Honolulu Boy Choir.  About thirty strong, the oldest of the lads couldn’t have been more than twelve. 

          As their lovely voices filled the cavernous Mall with my very favorite Christmas song ‘O Holy Night,’ a little girl in a brightly decorated stroller was pushed to my side.  The mother stopped and I glanced down at the child.  She was about three years old, all dressed up in her Christmas finery.  She looked around at the decorations, the huge Christmas tree in the center of the Mall, the choir singing and her eyes got big and round as saucers and she whispered:  ‘Oh Mommy, it’s Christmas!’

          I left the Mall smiling.   Looking at everything through the eyes of a little child, it was indeed Christmas.  I hoped that parents everywhere would take a moment to tell their little ones the real reason for the season…and be blessed because they did so.

For me, yes, it’s lovely to receive a thoughtful gift and to be part of happy holiday traditions, but my true happiness comes from celebrating the day as the birthday of my Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.

Happy birthday, Jesus, I hope our celebrations of your birth make you smile too.