A Wet Christmas

We don't have a white Christmas.... we have a wet Christmas. The rain is dancing like sugarplum elephants on our tin roof to the tune of "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" (my least favorite Christmas song.)
Lucky, who fears something we don't understand about being indoors in the rain, is standing in the frigid, wet cold, occassionally looking soddenly in, as though it is our fault his brain disappears on rainy days.

Maybe the rain and the frozen wet dog too traumatized for unknown reasons to come inside to dry warmth and comfort is the perfect Christmas symbol for the morning. Inside the tree is lit up with the lovely crystal decorations my mom gave me. The smell of coffee brewing drifts about, with tendrils of steam rising from my cup. Presents are beautifully wrapped and cheerfully arranged around the tree..... on one end of our great room.

On the other end, the sliding doors look out onto a drenched porch, shiny with rain in the slowly emerging break of dismal day. Lucky stands there looking in, his hair dripping in long wet strands about his silent, woebegone face. If I go and open the door, he comes in, and then instantly dashes back out the dog door. He has the choice to come in and join Christmas, but he doesn't. He stands frozen and miserable in the rain, locked in his fears and prejudice from joining the celebration.

I believe that is what entrance to the kingdom of God is like, symbolized by the gift of Christmas, the birth of a savior. We can all choose. Some will stand outside looking in, miserable and lost in trembling uncertainty. Some will be opening gifts eternally surrounded by warmth and love and light. A loving master opens the door over and over again, and out of fear and doubt, some choose to keep running from the source of all joy. My Christmas prayer and hope is that when the door opens, we can cast all apprehensions aside, and rush to the gift that awaits us, blinking in the blinding love. Merry Christmas.