No snow outside but if I squint I can see a glint of white in the frost across the mailbox and grass. Nothing exciting; no sign that the weather knows it is a holiday today. Hopes were high after hearing the possibility of snow in the forecast, but we got green and rain again this year instead.
It’s 8 am Christmas morning and as I walk outside to get the paper, I look up and down the street, at all the homes, lights aglow in the quiet. I wonder how many living rooms are filled with wrapping paper, how many children opened their gifts hours ago, how many families relaxing before the fire, coffee in hand, Christmas finished for them. I think about the wonder and awe, the rustling and wrapping of paper, the roller coaster ride of the holiday.
I imagine the neighbors’ homes may be like “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” or “Jingle Bells”. Loud, busy, boisterous. But inside our house it is still quiet. More like “Silent Night”. Everyone except me still asleep after spending Christmas Eve with my family, who missed the boat, literally, and ended up staying late. I sit there on the living room carpet and meditate in the silence. I think about Christmas and Silent Night. I think about the peace inside me, a peace that seems strange, after all the busyness of the holidays and the various chaos within me this past year. A heavenly peace. I think about the peace that must have been in that manger with Jesus, even among the animals and noise, the stink and straw. The peace He has and gives.
Up from the carpet, I decide to make cinnamon rolls using the last packet of yeast I have. I’ve never made them before, and I rarely bake with yeast. Kneading the dough, I read the recipe book and listen to news stories on the radio. With my hands I push the raisins into the sticky soft mixture. I make pieces the size of what I think look like “lemons” and roll them into snakes, then shaping those like snail shells. Five in one pan and six in another. In the oven the rolls rise and turn brown on the top. I take them out and put frosting, leftover from last nights cookie decorating, on the top for a treat.
By now the girls wake and I make eggs and meat for our breakfast while Ted takes a shower. We all can smell the cinnamon. The frosting melting across the rolls looks like snow, thick and white, covering mountains.
