She is 8, maybe 9. Her hair is blonde and curls up at her shoulders. She pushes her bangs out of her eyes, leaning forward to listen to the choir.

She did not have a Christmas dress with sparkles or lace or black patent leather shoes. Her hair was not curled into long ringlets. She had her Sunday best, a floral dress with straps. Probably a summer dress, but she did not care. The church was warm; her heart was warmer. She was singing, hugging and full of love.

She rests her head on her dad’s shoulders and sometimes her mom’s. She hugs them both close, her arms wrapped around their necks pulling them close.

It’s Christmas Eve. The church is full of the regulars, the Chreasters (those who attend only Christmas and Easter) and the children. The pew behind the little blonde girl is filled with her siblings and many other kids. Three quarters of the pew was filled with children. Squirming, excited, dreaming of presents under the tree and cookies for Santa and is-it-time-to-go.

A woman paused at my pew and whispered to me how she hadn’t sat in the balcony in years. Her son rang the big brass church bell tonight, and she remembered that used to be my dad’s job. She missed him. I nodded. It has been 11 years since his passing. I missed him, too.

The lights began to dim. The ushers made a last sweep of the congregation to ensure everyone had a candle for the grand finale of service.

 Two acolytes came down the aisle, lit the first person’s candle in the pew and moved on to the next pew. The candlelight being passed from candle to candle in the pew. The little girl carefully tipped her candle to her dad and then held lit candle tight in her hand.

The lights dimmed until there was only candlelight and blue twinkling lights on evergreens and the trees.

The congregation sang the first verse of Silent Night in German. Most mumbled something or stared blankly or hummed. A few strong singers, likely planted in the congregation, sang the words correctly. By the end, the congregation could sing two or three words confidently.

The organ music dynamically changed, the notes building to the familiar English version of the verses.

The little girl stood up, placing a hand on her dad’s shoulder. She raised her candle high, and those around her lifted their candle, too. Candlelight cut through the darkness, and the organ faded away, but the swelling of voices continued, singing the last verse with no music, just the sound of the young, the middle-aged and the old.

My throat tightened, and my vision blurred. The tears flowed freely at the simple beauty of this moment, filled with hope and peace through people united by the birth of a child who changed the entire world.

The heavenly host praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the Highest and on earth peace and goodwill to all.”

Merry Christmas everyone.