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| La Quinta view, but not in California |
Here I sit looking out a south window at a motel pool as
snowy ice pellets hit the water's surface creating dazzling modern art
forms. Today, December 25, this is my Norman Rockwell Christmas painting, and,
like so many of my 64 Christmases, we are on the road. Christmas on the
road has taken me to New Orleans, Chicago, Pasadena, Miami, Florida (and my
Miami, OK), Dallas, Wichita and many other tiny towns and truck stops of the
old two lane highways and Route 66. Very few Christmas's were ever spent
in our home, as a child or now as an adult, but I'm oh so blessed to have
celebrated uniquely.
There were years when Christmas was a struggle; when I forgot the
true meaning of Christmas; when I worried that it wouldn't be perfect; when I
compared our children's Christmas, divided with divorced parents and brought
together in a combined family, to those of one happy home. I'd gotten
lost in maize of looking for the perfect painting. One day in
a silent prayer for guidance a gentle voice reminded me that Christmas lives in
our hearts, and to open my heart to his love to his words. Watching now
as the ice pellets turn to snowflakes, the birds flutter in the trees, a
cardinal perches on a bush in front of me, I am refreshed in the beauty of the
moment, my heart is open and it is Christmas. Merry Christmas World.
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