Overflow my Christmas Heart

My Christmas in NJ began at an evensong service in the darkened sanctuary of the church where I grew up, with my mother, with guitars, and with worship beautiful, simple, powerful.  I sang in awe and gratitude for the year that I have had, a year of God descending with blessing in His hand, revealing His own self, clearing out  the darkness: 

Let all mortal flesh keep silence,

And with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly minded,
For with blessing in His hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth
Our full homage to demand.

King of kings, yet born of Mary,
As of old on earth He stood,
Lord of lords, in human vesture,
In the body and the blood;
He will give to all the faithful
His own self for heavenly food.


Rank on rank the host of heaven
Spreads its vanguard on the way,
As the Light of light descendeth
From the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish
As the darkness clears away.


At His feet the six winged seraph,
Cherubim with sleepless eye,
Veil their faces to the presence,
As with ceaseless voice they cry:
Alleluia, Alleluia
Alleluia, Lord Most High!

The only possible response to watching God descend: 

Silence, stillness, Alleluia.

Hence, the overflow of my Christmas heart began, and hence it continued as I spent the next day with my grandmother at her nursing home, eating the egg-on-a-NJ-bagel I'd picked up on my way over at her table with her lady friends, playing an impromptu concert of Christmas carols for the hard-to-deny-and-simply-adorable Willie, sitting with her in her cozy little room with reminders of my grandfather all around, chatting about all things family related... 

...like this Christmas cactus 

which--my grandmother informed me--belonged to her mother, was passed down to her, and eventually came to bloom on my mother's kitchen table, just in time for Christmas.

As I sat with her I thought what I usually think when I am with her, though with a Christmas spin:  An overflowing Christmas heart takes the time to listen for the secrets of a family, to make that family whole.

This particular whole family was gathering on the next day, for Christmas Eve celebrations of food and giftings, in our typically [and in no way secret] noisy can't-get-a-word-in-edge-wise way.   Since, however, this particular post is focusing on the silence of an overflowing heart, let's save the details of those gatherings for later, and skip ahead to the stillness of a midnight-hour candlelight service at the local town church. 

As Eve became Day, Dave & Kara, my parents, and I sang to the accompaniment of bells and an ancient organ, amid a crowd of people gathered to the do the same.  We came away, our Christmas hearts at peace.

We hopped into our car, to turn on the heat and to prolong our all-too-short time together, to be spontaneous and to go find some north jersey Christmas lights.  Due to the earliness of the hour, we didn't find much, but what we did find perhaps misunderstood the definition of 'overflow':

Our Christmas hearts were warmed, nonetheless, by our quiet chatting and sleepy laughter, by the gift of our presence.  By, as you may by now expect me to say: the overflow.

And so with ceaseless voice, 

the overflow of my Christmas heart continues to cry:
Alleluia, Lord Most High.