As a young girl, I would count down the days – not until I got to unwrap gifts – but until the day after Thanksgiving. Every fourth Friday of November, my home was transformed into a blissful wintery wonderland. Outside, my father would hang lights on the trees flanking our long driveway, the eaves on our house, the banister on our front porch, and even illuminate the homemade tree fort nestled in our back woods. Inside, my mother would work her magic on the large tree that we’d picked out as a family and trail cinnamon-scented garland along the stair rails. After a long day of a family effort to deck every hall, divine vapors of dinner swirled about the house. Before we sat down to eat, we would all make our way into the family room. My brother, sister and I cuddled around my mother on the big couch, sneaking chocolates from the coffee table candy dish. My father sitting in the poofy chair by the warm fireplace, silhouetted by twinkling lights. He would then read to us the story of the birth of our Savior as songs from the Choir of Saint Thomas quietly played in the background.

The story of the birth of Jesus is one that has always held me in a state of wonder. Even now I marvel at the strength of Mary and Joseph. Just consider the journey they took. Consider the pain and trials that these expectant parents endured all while following God’s plan – only to end up in a town without a bed for them to rest. I can only imagine what must have been running through Mary’s mind; pondering what it might be like to give birth to her son on the side of the road! From their perspective, it all didn’t make sense. Why would they have traveled to this little town and have nowhere to sleep? No clean place to make their bed? Just when all seemed hopeless; God provided. Granted, He provided a smelly, old barn. But, it was there and it was warm and it turned out to be exactly what they needed. Centuries later, that smelly barn would represent the humbleness that our Lord possessed.  It all fit so perfectly into the big picture even though it might not have been apparent at the time. God always has a plan and is ready with miracles on even the bleakest of winter nights. Christmas has been a time for miracles – ever since the night that joyful new parents celebrated the birth of a healthy baby boy in a barn on the outskirts of Bethleham.

I believe in a God who can achieve the impossible. Though this season has turned out very different than I would have planned, I know that it will provide us with exactly what we need. With the Lord on my side, I refuse to let the magic of the Christmas season go by unnoticed. Despite all that has happened; I will continue to revel in the miracles of Christmas past and be on the lookout for miracles of Christmas present. If you look close enough, you just might see one yourself…