And the lights, the greens, they say ‘hope’

The lights, they shine bright in the morning darkness. Oh, it’s Christmastime. The greenery strung high, trees lit brilliant, all whisper hope. This season…it’s hope.

Music plays; spirit of Christmas all wrapped in sound. In notes twinkling, twirling, falling like snowflakes to land on hearts dry and needy. And the song, it says hope.

My phone sounds with a message incoming. “He passed away. They’d barely unpacked, and now they’re traveling back.” Ah, no. In this season of lights, death has come, and our friends, they’re mourning.

Death; an end. The death of a husband, a father-in-law. Death of a grandfather, a dad. Death of a farmer, plain man of the earth. And his family, still living, feels its sentence in mortal flesh.

I’m looking at the lights. They’re still shining. I’m listening to the notes. They’re still falling. Death. Grief. Life. Hope. All tangling together, thorns twined with ribbons, at Christmastime.

Steam rises from the mug like whispered prayers ascending.  “Hope came. Hope, swaddled in cloth. Hope, lying in a manger. Hope with dusty feet, walking the the alleys, the byways of fallen Earth. Hope has come.”

I’m listening.

“Hope still walks the earth, child. Hope planted takes root, bearing fruit in softened hearts. Hope still dwells in human flesh for there My Spirit lives. Hope still travels the byways, drawing the lost, the lonely and the sad toward Heaven.”

The lights, they’re glowing, bearing witness. The greens, they’re testifying, shouting “life.” In this season of grief, hope shines bright. For death has been defeated, and we walk, not in fear, but in joy.

And one day, Heaven.