My friend Linda Thomas over at Spiritual Memoirs 101 put out a call for Christmas stories at the end of November, promising to publish one of them during Christmas week. She actually chose FOUR and mine is in that fourth slot today.
Christmas was one week away. As usual, I had more to do than I had hours in the day. Would I manage to keep all the plates twirling overhead as the final countdown loomed? Just the night before, our nine-year-old had played in a school concert; he complained that his foot hurt and I noticed that he limped as the brass section marched into place.
That morning, he clearly didn’t want to go to school; he was slightly feverish, so I told him he could take the day off, tagging along on my errands. “You can rest in the car at the grocery store, honey, but I’ll need you to come in with me at church. I’ve got a rehearsal for Sunday morning.”
As our trio sang into the microphone, I kept one eye on the balcony, where I watched Eric entertaining himself. My tall, lanky son was crawling his way around the balcony floor. “That’s odd,” I thought.
Come along over to Linda's place to read the rest of this disquieting Christmas experience, one that was redeemed by grace and healing... You can find it here.
