When I was much, much younger, I often wondered what it was going to be like to be–say–60–or so.
The Christmases came and went in blind succession, and the line “not even a mouse” swerved in and out of them–giggling, it seemed.
Not even a mouse.
And not a single sparrow that would fall without His knowing.
Well—-knowing what it is like to be 60–or so–has come and gone long ago. It ain’t the age, my friends—-it’s who loves you—-who cares about and respects you–who accepts you for who you are—-faults and all.
About who saves you from the emptiness and despair and loneliness.
So—-to all the mice and the sparrows and the friends and lovers and husbands and wives who care about each other—-to all of you: Merry Christmas.
And may God richly bless and keep all of you.