Christmas Wind

As the wind howls around the corners of the house, Sam comes to me, looking out toward the beast he cannot see, fear shaking though him. The weather folk dismiss it with explanations of low and high pressure systems through the area. But some call tigers cute. The grumble of a tiger’s purr does nothing to deny the beast’s power and ruthlessness.

It came to us at full roar, pushing the sea, claws and teeth tearing our homes and lives to splinters. It left us cold and shaking, clinging to each other, reminded of our weakness.

And now on the eve of Christmas it howls again. No name, no coverage in the media. But Sam’s trembling next to my leg and the power flickered again, thousands with lightless Christmas trees and wreathes. The memory of the beast breathes on our necks.

This season should be full of heavenly peace, touched by affection. But this should rings hollow when we consider our proximity to the eternal, multi-dimensional reality blowing through the world. It is what we celebrate, angels, messengers of the maker presenting an agenda that invaded and overturned lives, leaving them clinging to each other.

And so, we find the two things the tiger, the storm, and Christmas have in common. The wonder that they bring, leaving us in awe, reminded of glory that transcends our small agendas. And the truth that if we are to find peace in this life it is at the knee of our loved ones. Sam understands. He knows what to do when the beast howls. We can learn from simpler friends.