If I had to name one thing that gets to me the most this
time of year it wouldn’t be the snotty-nosed children’s choirs, twinkling red lights
illuminating snowflakes joining their brethren during an after midnight snow, or
misshapen snowmen with gnawed carrot noses. Although loved and time-honored,
those holiday traditions can’t hold a yuletide candle to the joy I feel watching
usually cranky folks holding doors open for package-carrying shoppers with a
shy smile, or the town skinflint tossing five dollars into a bell ringer’s
kettle, and the delight that runs through the audience of a middle school production
of O. Henry’s The Gift of the Magi.
What is this powerful force that tip-toes into the souls of we otherwise self-absorbed, distracted, and darn right stingy this time of
year? What is this…this…spirit that comes to visit for the month of December? From
whence does it come? And for godssakes, can’t someone speak to it about taking
up permanent residence?
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