Music filled my apartment as I lay nestled beneath a blanket on my sofa. Strings of lights danced around my vision. Lost in the glory of another place, I seemed to blend into the ambience of a Christmas night. My thoughts chased rhythms and wonders to the borders of my imagination until my sight rested on the light glowing above my crèche.
What a beautiful light it was, shining down on a manger there. As I gazed on it, it seemed to grow brighter as the vibrancy of choirs and orchestral strings swelled around me. It sparkled and dazzled until its brilliance filled the room.
I gasped. Its radiance filled my lungs, my mind, and my soul like a dream with its intoxicating splendor. I shaded my eyes and squinted against the vision.
“Arise, favored one of God,” it said.
“Arise,” I asked, “where are we going.”
“On a journey,” it said, “a journey that began before you were born and one you will never finish.”
“A journey…” I mouthed the words and repeated them in my mind.
“Yes,” it said, “for behold, God is with you and He will be conceived in you. And from out of you He will bring good news to the afflicted, bind up the brokenhearted, and proclaim liberty to captives. And His power in you will have no limit or end.”
My eyes dropped to my nativity’s manger with mother Mary hovering gently over baby Jesus. “But how can this be,” I asked, looking back up at the herald, “I think I understand how Mary and baby Jesus…how that happened, but me…” I paused, and at last finished my question, “…me, give birth to God.”
Then the glory of the angel exploded through my flat, igniting the night with showers of fireworks. I drew back. My eyes widened and made room for the myriad dancing colors.
“The Spirit of God shall come upon you and His power shall overshadow you,” its voice was mighty but became soft and assuring as the fireworks faded to twinkling lights, “and the holy thing which shall be born of you will be God.”
“Can I mother God,” I asked. My voice was distant and awed.
“With God, nothing is impossible,” it said, and what happened next I will never forget as long as I live.
The strings of lights about my ceiling exploded to the heavens, and the heavens seemed to plunge toward the earth. Star, angel, and light merged in a fantastic display across the sky, erupting into symphonies of song. I clutched my blanket under a host of singing angels, trembling as I took a few steps toward a crèche that was now much larger than my nativity.
“Fall on your knees,” they sang from all around me. Waves of rapture slammed me and I did, I fell on my knees. I fell on my knees before a stable and watched Mary cradling her Son in her bosom and Joseph standing by. It seemed hours that I knelt there with a heart of solemn stillness, wrapped in my blanket, surrounded by angels. But it must have been only minutes that I bowed before the holy family, listening to the angel’s song—that ancient song of old.
“O night Divine….o night when Christ is born,” they sang, “O night Divine, o night, o holy night.”
Somewhere between the stars and my tears, I realized the angels were singing for me. My mind raced to remember the words to that favorite carol. What were they? Ahhh…yes, above its sad and lowly plains they bend on hovering wing. And ever o’er its Babel sounds the blessed angels sing. They are singing now for the same reason they sang that night so long ago: Christ is born!
I closed my eyes and my hand found my heart. “Be it done unto me according to your word,” I whispered.
The angel choirs faded into the starry night and I realized that I was kneeling before the crèche in my living room. My Christmas lights were twinkling there instead of angels and stars. I rose up and peered down at the nativity. A light lit up the baby Jesus’ face.
“This is a night Divine,” I breathed.
It seemed more than I could take in all at once. I sank back onto the couch and pulled my blanket close.
“This is a night Divine.”
Lost in revelation, I gazed at the smile on Mary’s face. I resonated with it somehow. Mary and I have something in common. The One who encircles the heavens was encircled by her, the Creator within His creature—and now me. How could it be? I took a deep breath. What had the angel said? “Nothing is impossible with God…”
As I sat wondering, the carol came again through my speakers and hung in my room, “O night Divine. O night when Christ is born…”
“A journey,” I spoke to the quiet and holy darkness. “It all begins. He is conceived in me tonight, the highest and most precious thing that could ever happen to Mary—or me.”
My thoughts trailed off as I snuggled up on the sofa. Strings of lights seemed to dance around my vision as I lay back, submitted to the Divine proposal, and let Christmas happen.
