The days were very cold, and they were growing shorter. On each afternoon's walk my shadow looked longer. Several difficult problems had made my mood as somber as the setting. One by one the Christmas decorations began to appear—tinsel, wreaths, lights. Yet these did not brighten my outlook.
For some time Christmas had not been my favorite season. The mounting excitement, the relentless merchandising, the tinkling of carols, all seemed like a mockery of anything truly satisfying. Since I avoided secular merriment, I thought I was honoring the spiritual sense of Christmas. But in actuality I looked forward to the undemanding gray of January and simply ignored Christmas.
This year, however, I had occasionally been reading individual books of the Bible. As I turned one morning to the Gospel of John, the opening verses moved me. I read of the Word that was God, the life that was the light of men, the light shining in darkness, the word made flesh. At first I felt only the glory of the advent of Christ Jesus. But this made me want to feel differently about Christmas.
