And then in a story, a little girl went looking for Christmas on a starry night . . .First came the candles. From cupboards, the Advent wreath.
But we follow the lights, our own burning deep.
We see the hay. We hear the animal sounds. We catch the whiff of a barn. A lonely stable out on a prairie.
But perhaps not so lonely. How can a place be all alone when it's filled with such light?
How can a place be silent when the ringing of His crying voice calls out from a manager? A manger? When He is a King up in heaven? We can only shake our heads, and wonder.
Here, real. Those tears in our eyes. We can touch it. "God with us." Following a light leading us through darkness, igniting our souls, one after the other. Christmas. Him. The King.