by August Murray

December is here, a bitter wind howls outside,
Long winter nights once again have arrived.
We now gather as one in soft candlelight,
Where faith warms our hearts and hearths burn bright.

Father reads from his Bible, cradled in hand;
We listen in reverence to learn and understand.
He tells of a family that an inn turned away,
And the birth of our Christ on that glorious day.

Our Savior was born, God’s promise made true;
The path to salvation for me and for you.
With shepherds in wonder and angels who sang,
Of the author of mercy, the newborn King!

We hear of the Wise Men who followed His star,
How Christ’s holy presence can reach from afar.
Gathered together, wide-eyed and still,
We learn of the Lord and to trust in His will.

Outside, snow falls gently—white, pure, and deep;
A sign of His grace and the promise He keeps.
For one day, in Heaven, by faith’s steady guide,
We’ll sit at the feet of the Father on high.

Worldly desires seek glitter and gain;
With a Santa enthroned for one day to reign.
Christmas draws near, and yes, gifts will be opened,
But none match the gift God Himself has chosen.

“For unto you is born this day,” we recall,
That Christ is our center, our meaning, our all.
Our God is eternal—He never departs;
He dwells in our joys, our hopes, our hearts.

So December is here, and the cold may be bracing,
Yet the light of this season is warm and unceasing.
For Christmas is not measured in wealth or in gold,
But in the love of our Savior, eternally told.

A Christmas Reflection

My mother was an atheist, but as a child she brought me to the Congregational Church in our village at Christmas time, the “Congo,” as it was known. She believed that each of her children must make their own choices about faith. Her hope was simply that I would be exposed to God, and the decision to believe—or not—would be my own.

The Christmas service in that old Vermont church, warmed by hymns and candlelight, became formative in ways I did not understand at the time. Only later in life did I learn that God will reveal Himself, even before we are ready, and sometimes people who claim no belief still help us find our way.

Now, all these years later, that warm memory returns every holiday season. I am reminded that faith often begins quietly, like an early snowfall. And sometimes, faith begins simply by showing up—sitting in an old wooden pew, listening to prayer, wondering, hoping.

Revelation 3:21 reminds us that grace is not inherited, but chosen: “To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne.” Amen.

August Murray is a farmer and veteran from Weathersfield, Vermont.