Each year I wonder if, when, or where I’ll cross paths with the spirit of Christmas.
Perhaps in a person, sometimes in a moment, always when I least expect it, the spirit of the season will reveal itself. Usually as an observer, a bystander to generosity, whimsy or a simple act of kindness, I tuck the memory away like a fondly held Christmas card. But this year the spirit had a more direct approach, arriving early and in a pickup truck.
Last Sunday, as Boz & Gracie lured me downstairs with their ramped up barks, I could see a tall constitution of a man peering through my front door window. A friendly smile told me it was my neighbor, Dan.
You see, I’m chainsaw-challenged and most of my firewood is green and not split. Dan, a keen observer and a man of few words, pointed to the dry, split firewood in his pickup and said, “Merry Christmas, Tom.”
The spirit of Christmas overwhelms quickly and tends to leave its beneficiary tongue-tied. Add a bundle of pencil-thick kindling to the mix, and I am without words.
Yes, the spirit of Christmas knocked on my door that day, and in the process reminded me that it’s a regular visitor.
Toasty toes and pampered paws enjoy a fireside warm-up.