The passing Christmastide has been for me a season of grace unmatched in my years of Earthly pilgrimage.
I have known and continue to know my sinfulness; that knowledge is leading to ever greater knowledge of God's mercy. The former must have an end, even if it is to be found just short of the principle of my creation. The latter endures forever.
There have been graces, some in the corners and recesses of my memory, made present by that which seemed chance, but could not be.
I wept, for instance, at "The Little Drummer Boy", having heard a few strains of the song that brought to mind its lyrics, at a moment in which I was being sorely tempted to the kind of false humility that is rooted in laziness and leads to ungrateful shiftlessness - the burying of talents.
I have been reminded of the brevity of Earth, and the depth of eternity.
Plenty of Gold in Them Thar Hills
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