At my age, remembering the items in the “Twelve Days of Christmas” song is about as possible as memorizing all the warnings on pill bottles. Some seem to forgotten any song. Dips in the Market and dipsticks on the news channels have cast a somber silence of fear.
Will “Doomsday” be the 13th day of Christmas? It’s up to us. Fear is a tepid threat in the echo of a Christmas hymn. Gloom is a faded foe to a volunteer serving breakfast to the homeless after a cold night. Gray clouds are no match for the nurse who volunteered for the Christmas Eve shift.
Belief must never be surrendered to angst. And giving must never be auctioned to grief. If we have nothing left to grasp but the grasping itself, there is reason to hope for another day. A royal ribbon of kept promises is woven through the pages of Scripture. Everlasting life was birthed awkwardly and painfully in the poverty filled confines of a manger cave, and his first cry was the very voice of God. As long as C-H-R-I-S-T is still in the song, the day after the twelfth will never be Doomsday.
Carol joins me in praying God’s powerful presence over your every holiday gathering or reflection.