A faith like this in today' s world of stratagems, deceit and distrust between nations, and watchful waiting, fear in the hearts of men, must be recorded in words that shine with the brilliance of a thousand stars.
This is the 23rd day of December, 1955, and she will soon observe her 99th Christmas. Her Christmas tree is trimmed and ready for lighting. There are presents for her accumulating each day at the base of the tree. She occasionally asks for one of her gift packages, to hold in her lap and to inquire again as to who sent it and to speculate on what might be in it, and not really caring but happy in knowing that she is rememebered by someone dear to her.
She is sleeping now, here in her reclining chair, but a half hour ago she asked me to switch the lights on to the Christmas tree. I did so not knowing that the radio was also on the same outlet. I turned the house light off and shortly after the tree lighted up the simple beautiful notes of Silent Night came into the room. She gazed fixedly at the tree for some moments and with a smile on her tired face she drifted off to sleep.
She is sleeping now; the burden of the years has etched her face in deep criss-cross lines, yet courage and faith shine thru with undimmed brightness. Courage to face what may yet be before her on this earth (tho she well knows that time will not be long) and her faith in the higher power that will take over when her small hands are at rest.
As she lies there in gentle sleep, her snow-white hair in the light of the tree's illumination makes a perfect halo -- or is it her hair?
My doctor tells me that I have Meniers disease, one of the symptoms of which is head noise; the sound of the wind thru the trees, or of gentle waves on a sandy beach; but the sibilant sound I now hear could be the swish of wings of an angel hovering near.
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