Christmas Eve we set out for a Candlelight service.
We take communion and I see the elements in my sons hands. Hands that are turning into man hands before my eyes.
And hands that are still young and about to begin to turn.
We sit in darkness and one by one candles light up the room.
We hold them high for all to see and what once was dark and lost can now be found. Without fail, that always in some way is me. Finding the light again and setting my mind back on the right path.
My youngest doesn’t want to blow his candle out. Truth be told, I don’t want any of us to blow our candles out. The symbolism that lies there hits me hard. I swallow and smile and we go to look at all the Christmas lights as the sun is making it’s way down for the day.
The scenes all change…
but the story is the same…
Love came down…
and the hope that is Christmas lives in everyday.