“O, death
Where is your sting?”

Here is the yarn, quite simple but profound. This is how it was told it commence with the things I abhored: lights, music, and a girl I knew. She was merely a nothing.

There were four series of lights wreathed on the recycled bare tree where the white paint glistened. As she recurred, the hues were red, yellow, blue, and green, while the wafts swayed the festive music. 

She goggled at the entire glowing tree and without a glimpse of another second—red, yellow, blue, and green—it bent back towards her eyes with unaltered wonderment. These hues and music and wonder heralded the approaching, immense day of the year—Christmas.

The twelfth month was unfurled before her eyes, and she was invited to join the 31 kindreds marching on their way every 24 hours. Eventually, 360 hours passed by, and the sixteenth kindred blew in horribly. 

In an abrupt moment, darkness devours the lights, a forceful wind annihilates the music, and the glistening paint was sluiced by the deluge. Her eyes, however, with brimming awe abides.

On the damp floor, she crouched while entwining her arms around her knees. Since it was a frigid night, it was a fearful sight.

Oh, death and sorrow, descried under the roof. Her eyes persist in beholding the terror, but she can’t manage the pain—taking a gander at vulnerable eartlings, old and young. Neither the adults nor the children seem to grab the opportunity to rest. A joyous song of Christmas changes into a symphony of weeping and smashing of wind—this is deafening to her.

Each thought is unbearable, for there was only one exit—death; when it arrived, no one could plead for an escape. Their lips trembled, their feet were dithering, and they pleaded and prayed. 

Yet, where was the fear that throttled her? If it was not there, one thing I am certain of is that I am at her side. But, there were another two girls, and wait, three more earthlings, which fears were gone. How could it be? They should have had fear.

What happened? There was a new song I heard. It was a hopeful melody. Forsooth I heed, she sung “In Christ alone,” the other two ladies sung “Across the Land.” 

Who gave them such hope? Neither melody nor joy should be present. It should be grief and despair. 

The enraged night was covered with the brilliance of the rising sun. She saw a swarm of juveniles and an old, rugged trees kissed the soil. Leaves were minced and pounded. Houses were desolated. Even the bravest man she knew admittedly uttered, “Fears swallowed him.” Due to the fact that this feeble girl should be afraid, but there was none after she prayed. What sort of aid was it? 

I dare say, her fear was gone and much hope I found. 

As my mind remembered, it was an immovable hope—so strong and bright. As how she yearns for the arrival of the twenty-fifth kindred.

Today, eight days after the catastrophe. Neither lights nor water were there, yet, I heard her telling a story before the two children. She said, “Listen, Santa Claus was not true and there was no good man. It was said that Santa would only give his gifts to children who were good. But because all are sinners, not a single one should receive his gifts, and it would be meaningless. Children, you should know and you must know that Christ is the true and perfect gift and hope of sinners—not only on the 25th day of December. He was forevermore. And you should repent and believe in the Gospel, ’til there was time, “she ended her account.

There were no more red, yellow, blue, and green lights. In the midst of her and the children, there was a single amber light coming from the lamp. The hope and awe in her eyes was still there, and they were singing in a capella—this is abominable in my sight.

Her hope was in Christ. That’s for sure.

This midnight, they will celebrate Christmas. They hearkened back in their heart and soul the birth of Christ and His death and His resurrection.

I am here. I have no empty room, even when I attempt it. Someone indwelling in her is so powerful, it blinds me and blows me away. Hence, I have no cling on her. I disappear. 

Happy Christmas.

Postscript: It should have been posted in the twenty-fourth night of December, but sadly, the internet connection at my place was poor due to the devastating aftermath of Typhoon Odette. Still, everyone have a very Happy Christmas. May Christ be exalted. 

Have a blessed day ahead!


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