Above thy deep and dreamless sleep, the silent stars go by.
One of the aspects of the Christmas season I enjoy is the occasional silence. The quiet. Moments like now, 10:41 p.m., when I’m sitting by the Christmas tree, the tree lights lit, the house lights dark.
Two years ago at this time, the house would be dead quiet, everyone except me asleep. But my kids are older. Andrew often doesn’t get to bed until he’s given the new day a firm handshake. But still, the house is relatively quiet.
I need the stillness, the occasional quiet, to connect with the Savior.
Christmas is meaningless if you don’t at all connect with the Savior, person to person. Imagine going to a birthday party for a friend and never once greeting your friend, not even with eye contact. I love most of the trappings of Christmas. But what a waste if I engage all the trappings, yet never once worship the Lord.