Yes, I am back where I began on this year-long journey with Dickens' A Christmas Carol. It is Christmas Eve, and Scrooge is sitting at his desk, pre-Marley and pre-Ghosts of Christmas. Bob Cratchit is freezing in his little office corner, and Fred, Scrooge's nephew, has just extended his annual dinner invitation to his uncle. Yes, the stage is set.
In about an hour's time, I will be heading to church for the first of two worship services. At 8 p.m., I will be at the piano, playing for the children's program. Three months of rehearsals all boil down to fifteen minutes tonight. It will be over before a single angel has a chance to tune a harp.
I am a little tired of Christmas music at the moment. I have been practicing like crazy this past weekend. This afternoon, I went to the church and practiced one last time. I feel prepared, but I've been doing Christmas programs long enough to know that something is going to go wrong. It always does. A little girl angel will lift her skirt. A little boy angel will scratch himself in an inappropriate place. I will play a song in the wrong key. Mistakes will be made.
But, at the end of the night, candles will be lit; the organist will play "Silent Night"; and we will raise our voices and eyes to heaven, looking for the light of the Bethlehem star.
That is Saint Marty's Christmas Eve. No Marley. No gruel. No Ghost of Christmas Past, Present, or Future. Christmas will come quietly, like fresh, soft snow. Like a sleeping Infant.
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| Mistakes will be made tonight |
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