My dad used to gather us together and read Luke 2 on Christmas Eve.
One year, it was -22 out, too. We huddled by the fire.
Used to do this with friends.
We’d meet in the evening at the local horse stables, bringing bags of carrots and apples for the horses. After sharing with the horses, We’d read Luke 2.
The scent of barns, hay & poop. The quiet sounds of horses rustling and the sheer stillness of the setting. A reminder of how God Himself came into this world in such a humble setting, as a man, to ultimately pay the debt we can never possibly repay.
Sadly, the stable owner eventually, even politely stopped this due to potential liabilities.
It was a blessing.
There was no elaborate Christmas Eve service production, with organs playing, lights flashing, electric guitars buzzing, or a canned message. It was just God’s Word and the quiet presence of the Creator in our midst. When we would leave, it was with a quiet, solemn peaceful countenance, having been in His presence and some with tears.
I miss those chilly nights