Every Christmas my grandfather would leave us a beautiful gift by reading us the story of the birth of Jesus from Luke. The sound of his inflections, the way his voice carries over the wood floor and through the room stilling all of the conversations is something that lasts with me. “And it came to pass, in those days…” The words are so familiar and warmed me every year, the memory still does.
I didn’t make it home this year to hear my grandfather read the words. Instead, I heard my pastor reading them during a beautiful Christmas Eve service. The inflections were completely different, the accents were regions apart, but the words struck me again. Memories flooded back of the years of celebrations.
Those familiar words are a comfort, then when I need them they come back again.