Love came down at Christmas

Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, Love Divine,
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and Angels gave the sign.

English poet and author, Christina Rossetti was born on this day in 1830 (died 1894).

It’s Tuesday and our journey toward Bethlehem continues.

The house is mostly decorated, save a few things on the outside. Like the candles in the windows that need new batteries, a new wreath for the door, and a few, very few, lights around the front porch.

That will all be done by this coming weekend. And by that point, my wife and son will be finished with their performances in Glorious Christmas Nights. Then we can get well into our rush of Christmas activities.

As for me, I’m heading to the coast this afternoon for a work trip. The meeting is actually tomorrow. But because it’s in Hampton Roads, I’m taking the opportunity to see the ocean just one more time this year.

There will be no sunburns, or parking of my ample backside in the warm sand. But hopefully the weather will be clear enough that I can stare at the water for a bit and let the salt air blast a few cobwebs from the brain.

Then it’s home late Wednesday afternoon to a calendar that has shows or events for each of the next five nights.

It really is the most wonderful time of the year.

Somewhere in there I’ll find some more time to read by the tree. I like the warm glow from the Christmas lights as I read, or watch TV, or nap.

I have to finish the two books I’m currently reading and finish three more before the end of the year in order to meet my Goodreads challenge. I can do it if I pick short books.

I’m currently struggling through William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury. I’ll admit to being a little lost and wondering if the bourbon would help with the reading. Probably not, but I’m determined to finish up, ponder it a bit, and maybe pull it back out in a few years to see if it makes more sense.

Reading Faulkner is part of my quest to read and understand more southern authors. After all, I’m an author, and I’m southern. I’m just not sure yet that I’m a southern author.

We’ll see.

In addition to the list from yesterday, and the list of holiday happenings (and happenings to), I have a few more things to try to accomplish by the end of the year.

Sometimes that makes it hard to remember what the season is all about.

So, I’m trying to keep, or regain, that focus. Maybe a few minutes on the beach will help. Or maybe seeing the Christmas lights along the Virginia Beach Boardwalk will help (I’ve always wanted to do that and, by golly, tonight that’s my plan).

Maybe finding those quiet times in front of the tree over the next few weeks will help that.

Oh, I know that the shopping rush is still to come. I know there will be a rush to get ready for the yet undetermined amount of Christmas company. I know there will be more invitations and more things to do.

It’s a challenge every year to not get caught up in all of that and to forget the reason that there’s a season.

Yes, I know that Jesus wasn’t really born on December 25. I know that the early church appropriated other customs and traditions to focus on Christmas.

I even know that, in spite of the pretty pictures it makes, the wise men didn’t get to the manger on Christmas Day. That’s another story. It would do you good to look it up.

But central to all of the stories, the shoppings, the parties, and all things Christmas is one simple truth.

“Love came down at Christmas.”

This year, I’ll do my best to remember that.

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