Staying Put in Upton

I love Christmas. Not the commerical, 25-days-left-to-shop-muzak-carols-playing-much-too-early-in-the-mall-join-the-frenzy-don't-be-a-Scrooge, Christmas. I don't like the added stress of all the shopping and preparing. I like Christmas: a candle-lit Christmas eve service at church where I can contemplate, in the quiet darkness, the love of God so great that he sent his Son to be our Savior; a Christmas morning with my little family, opening presents and enjoying them, but enjoying one another's company even more; a larger family gathering some days later where chatter and homely food are featured. On Christmas eve I was thinking that even if every present disappeared, I would be content with what I have. I was thinking about how greatly blessed I am with a family that I love, and who love me, and a God who loves me more than I could ever contemplate. And Christmas has come in it's blaze of secular fury and remains in a quiet whisper.