The Christmas Star

It was late. Past midnight. The sky was utterly dark. The wind whistled through the small, overcrowded town, The silence was deafening, intimidating, and unwelcoming. In a dark alley a cat's screech eerily split the nothing. The streets were still, empty. The houses were dark and quiet. One lone candle shone in a stable. Two people moved inside. Then three. Suddenly, the sky lit up with the light of a thousand brightly shining stars. One star, far more radiant and beautiful than the rest, shone with a sense of great importance. In the stable animals lowed in response to the aggravating interruption of their slumber. A cow grunted and chewed its cud. A pig snorted as it rooted further into the mud. A herd of sheep on the countryside looked up lazily from the grass then continued feeding. The star silently screamed a proclamation to the unhearing village. It shouted the arrival. It pleaded for an audience. Few responded to it. Most scorned it or simply ignored it, far to busy sleeping to wake for even a moment to look at the radiance. The faithful star would watch through the years and be disheartened, excited, afraid, angry, and horrified. If only it's message had been heeded, but then the price would never have been paid. "He'll be back," the star whispers, "and you won't be able to ignore Him twice."

That is just something I wrote last Christmas and I stumbled upon it this morning.

You can't have Christmas without Christ and you can't have a holiday with a Holy day.

Merry Christmas, even if it is politically incorrect.

Under Grace,
Anna