Hope is a feather plucked from a capable wing, now suddenly captive in the breeze. The sand is ice-cold underneath a fresh layer of new fallen snow and the gifts remain wrapped and under the tree as Sam and I pack up our coffees, tie into our most capable snow boots and warm coats and head down to greet the sun on this Christmas morning, Sam half-ruined with joy already and me half-awake as ever but somehow we made it and I got to bear witness to a monologue the likes of which the church never sees but should. The sun warmed our faces while his words warmed my heart and I am reminded of why I refused to follow Jacob into the abyss of nothing. There's no heaven. All of this is it and you better not squander this chance at it because it's on earth. It's now, not after. It's Christmas every day if you want it to be.
Merry Christmas to all of my readers. Even the ones who hate my guts. Jesus loves you no matter what disdain you have for me and no matter what thoughts go through my head any minute of any hour. He loves me even as my hands touch upon someone I shouldn't and even as I foolishly wish for things long lost, even on His birthday.
A kiss lands on top of my head as I look out at the snow crunching up the top layer of the sea in a rush to hush it all down into a magical holiday scene. I look up and Lochlan is looking down at me, his face cracking into a smile.
Merry Christmas, Peanut.
I turn and there's an army of men, carrying a fully lit Christmas tree. They set it up on the beach, back far enough to stay out of reach of the tides, but far enough out to make everyone gasp and then smile if they see it. Someone has a picnic basket and they begin to pass out juice boxes, croissants and more coffee thermoses. Wreathes are hung along the posts all around the dock and music begins to lilt out from a speaker someone has. Just soft enough for magic and just loud enough for me to hear.
But then they all start to sing.
It's the best sound I ever heard and the tears are freezing on my cheeks, mixed with snow.
When the song is finished everyone eats their waterside breakfast, sitting on the dock and then Lochlan pulls me into his coat. A kiss lands on my nose and my glasses steam up.
Merry Christmas, Locket. I love my present. Wow. This is incredible.
His eyebrows go up. This isn't your present.
But you've spent hours off rehearsing
Actually that song wasn't part of the plan this morning so we weren't practicing, but also that isn't your present. You'll get that this afternoon, because we're still not finished it.