Boston Globe: The Gift

”Why are we doing this?” a person wonders, at the same time desperate for some wonderment, some glimmer of a star in the black sky.

The answer breaks through in fragments, arriving with a sudden blast of unequivocal Handel on the car radio, the lighting of a single candle, the reassuring solidity of polished wooden pews, the reading of ancient text, a stranger’s smile and joke in a gridlocked toy store.

The clarity will come again today despite the morning frenzy, the untrained puppy, and the gift gloves accidentally tossed out with a pile of used wrapping paper.

In the quiet of the late afternoon, as the light fades into a Christmas evening, a person might take a winter walk and feel gloriously alive yet relaxed. The rush will be warmer than brandy and sting the eyes with tears as a person believes for one exquisitely crystalline moment that the human race can and will embrace the good that is in us all.

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