Christmas day

It's four minutes before Christmas day. I just returned home from the 10pm church service, and I'm now watching A Christmas Story. As I sit here on our cat-clawed couch, I'm having a flash back. This movie conjures up specific Christmas memories for me. Maybe it's the oldness of it all, the worn carpet on the stairs, the bad gifts or Christmas shared with a sibling, but suddenly I'm 12 years old, watching Christmas lights from the back of a gold Oldsmobile. I'm asleep before we make it home, and I stumble out of the car and into blackness. The house smells like Christmas - pine tree, tape, wrapping paper and cookies.

My brother and I share a room - his room. I'm on the cot and he takes the bed. We talk for what seems like hours about what we might get the next morning, anticipating daybreak so we can jump out of bed and wake mom and dad.

I miss those days. I wish I could reminisce with my brother but he's not here anymore. He died at age 33 - same age I am now. Seems weird.

My prayers always include gratitude for my childhood, a brother whom I will always cherish, who provided memories I would not have otherwise had. And although he has been gone for almost three years now and life has moved on, I know that I will one day see him again because of Christmas day. Because of the baby Jesus who came to lived among us as fully God and fully man and gave His life for us at age 33 so that we can have eternal life.

I'll see my brother again. For that, I'm eternally grateful.