For your Father knows what you need before you ask him. —Matthew 6:8 (RSV)
When I was growing up, I loved Christmas Eve because it was the night Mom would sing “Sweet Little Jesus Boy” at our candle-lighting church service.
Her pure soprano voice cradled each note, making the song a prayer that reached shadowed corners of church and hearts alike.
I’d sit entranced, thinking that’s how an angel must sound. After I was married, with children of my own, I still loved hearing Mom’s “Sweet Little Jesus Boy” every Christmas. One year, on a whim, I asked if I could record her. She paused on her way out my door, wearing a bright red scarf over her white hair, and began to sing.
The very next year found us thousands of miles apart. My family had moved to the woods of Alaska. It was Christmas Eve—a lonely time when you’re in a new place far from home. I remembered the recording I had made and quietly slipped outside and crunched up and down the frozen drive, playing “Sweet Little Jesus Boy” over and over.
Mom’s voice hung in the clear night air like an angel song. Not even the frigid temperature could keep my loneliness from melting away. I looked up at the stars… and God… and whispered, “Merry Christmas!”
