It is well after midnight and I am sitting alone on the couch. Only the twinkling of the lights and the flickering flames from the fire interrupt the stillness.
I make a list and check it twice. Sadly, it is far too long.
In the wee hours of this high, holy day, I pray for the weary world…and the weary in my world:
I pray for the hurting, the sad, the lonely, the defeated.
For the one who heard, “There’s nothing more we can do.”
For the ones whose ravaged bodies still fight for healing and remission.
For the ones who celebrate the Christ-child, yet ache to hold a babe of their own,
For the one who now sleeps alone without his precious bride, and the kids who miss their mom
For the ones filled with unending anguish and unanswered questions about their teen’s suicide
For the marginalized, the estranged, the lonely, the defeated,
For the ones in harm’s way and those who long for their return
For those marking their first Christmas without a precious loved one
For the ones who have lost : a treasured pet, a friendship, a job, a spouse, their confidence, their way.
Weary, indeed: You. Me. So many of us.
Above the mantle over the fireplace, a scroll proclaims the first line of the classic Christmas carol, “Oh, Holy Night!” I think of that familiar song and pause on one line:
“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new a glorious morn.”
It gets me every time.
The words are a salve to the weary world. And to my weary soul they are a lifeline, a tether — a reminder that in the midst of
there is reason to rejoice.
For this world and the weary in my world who thirst, long, and yearn for hope – it has come. It is here. It is found this Holy night.
Tears flow. I fall on my knees and pray that the beautiful, amazing, thrill of hope we celebrate this day will soothe the world, and the weary in my world.