Today felt like the most Christmas Eve a day can feel.
The cold made everything quiet outside, like the world was holding its breath. Sister Mary Claire and I bundled up and waited for Robert, and when his truck finally came up the lane, it felt like an answered prayer. Minnie knew right away what it meant—she did her little happy wiggle and pressed close to Sister, like she didn’t want to miss one single holy thing.
The ride to church was peaceful. Robert drove steady and careful, and the roads looked dark and sleepy, with winter all around them. The church windows shone warm and soft as we pulled in, and I remember thinking how the light looked like a promise.
Because it’s Christmas Eve, we went to evening Mass, and everything felt extra sacred—like the air itself was different. Father LeRoy’s homily stayed close to the meditation for today, and I tried my very best to listen with my whole heart.
He spoke about Mary waiting for Jesus, not in a loud or worried way, but in deep quiet—like a candle that never goes out. He said she was preparing not with presents or noise, but with recollection, love, obedience, and trust. He reminded us that the stable was poor, but it was holy, because Mary gave Jesus the richest thing she had: her whole heart.
Then Father said something that made me sit up straighter. He said Christmas isn’t only Jesus coming to Bethlehem long ago—Christmas is Jesus coming to us, too. He talked about how we prepare our hearts like a little manger, especially when we receive Him in Holy Communion. He said we don’t give Jesus big fancy gifts. We give Him our small ones: our promises, our sacrifices, our obedience, our love—and we renew them like a fresh offering.
When we knelt, I pictured the cave of Bethlehem like the meditation says—Mary in deep prayer, St. Joseph kneeling apart, and the angels so near you could almost hear them breathe. And I thought, Lord, please help me be ready. Please make my heart a clean place for You.
After Mass, we walked out into the cold again, but it didn’t feel as sharp. It felt bright—like the night was keeping a secret, and the secret is Jesus.
Now we’re home, and Minnie is curled up and warm, and Sister Mary Claire looks peaceful and quiet like she’s still holding something holy in her heart. I’m going to sleep, too, because tomorrow is Christmas, and I want to meet it with a good heart.
Bedtime Prayer
Jesus, please come close to my heart tonight.
Help me love You like Mary did—quietly, truly, and with my whole self.
Mary and Joseph, lead me to Jesus and teach me how to be ready.
Glory to God in the highest.
Amen.
Resolution
Tonight I will make my heart a little manger—clean, quiet, and ready—so I can welcome Jesus with love and keep my promises faithfully.
Love, Kathy.
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