Christmas Eve

I’ve been told that maybe it’s “an Italian thing”, that Christmas Eve as a holiday full of fun and festivity always seemed to mean more to us as kids than Christmas day itself.  Perhaps it’s because as we enjoyed seeing our grandparents and opening “the family gifts” (as opposed to the next morning’s “Santa’s”), we always knew that the next day was, after all, Christmas.  But then on the day itself, we sensed we were coming to the end, all too soon, of another long anticipated Christmas.

It begs, perhaps, a question of anticipation and expectation versus the reality of what it is that we’d been waiting for.  All those years ago, as a chosen people were awaiting a savior, one who would conquer and restore… the reality of that expectation and hope was met with something quite different: an infant born to poor and homeless parents who were far from home and essentially unwanted in their present location.  Instead of a legion of worshippers… there was a humble gathering of shepherds.  Instead of palace comforts and throngs of servants, there was a chilly night air and the presence of common barnyard animals.

May your Christmas Eve be all you expected.  Or then again…

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