The family Christmas party, a tradition where we’d gather to celebrate. Presents would be given, news would be told, children would be playing, an argument to stop, a bruise from a fall, the cacophony of being part of a family.
Time for the meal, children sitting separately. Food had been prepared, a task shared by many gathered. Tables covered with treats and drinks suitable for young and old.
“Mummy, Johnny hit me,” a call rings out.
A parent responds. An argument sorted.
Uncle is getting a little too loud, having started his celebration earlier than most. A frown from some slows his pace.
There’s always at least one, “Suzie’s been sick.”
The volume grows. Children and adults happy, sad, angry, loud, the general spread of life before us on this day.
Only I sit quietly, pondering the meaning of the gathering and the struggle at times to keep the joy. Why do we go through this each year?
I heard an angel voice through the chaos and noise. Jackie was singing, a voice so pure. She reminds us of all the right reasons we gather.
The tables are quiet.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” she ends.
What blessing granted her a voice to quiet us all? Surely the angels have touched her soul.