Overheard in a very, very long check-out line at a local box store:
“If you don’t stop whining, I’m going to tell Santa Claus what a bad little girl you are and he won’t bring you a single thing for Christmas.”
“I bought three more cans of that pine spray. Since we got the artificial tree, it just doesn’t seem like Christmas.”
“I got Vic in the office gift thing. What am I supposed to buy for a loser like him? They want us to spend thirty bucks. Thirty bucks! For Vic!”
“I just love Christmas! Jerry had a great party on Saturday; everyone was, like, totally wasted. And there’s another one tomorrow night at Connie’s.”
I’m discovering that it’s a long, hard road to the Manger, and it seems to be getting farther away every day. I find myself reverting to my six year old self on a long car trip. “Are we there yet?” I whine to myself.
Yet, I know it’s there…just over the horizon. And it will happen as it always does, in the telling of the age-old story, in the songs of the choir and the hush as the baby Jesus is placed in the manger. Once again, we will cry out, “He is Born! Glory to God in the highest!”
It’s not far now.
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