It doesn't feel like Christmas at all. At least, it didn't until I got to the Christmas Eve service at Pleasant Hills Church, which we attend every year.
But it's not the because of the religious message or because of the music. Its not that we know many people at that church and it's not because I love going to that specific building. It's mainly because, I have very strong memories of going there with my Pap the Christmas before he died... and it honestly is the one time of year I feel close to him again. There's also an elderly man who sings in the choir, who looks so much like the way my Pap used to... that I sit there holding my breath, waiting for him to walk down the aisle as the choir enters. I know it's not really him, but I sit there, waiting to see my Pap once again.
This year, as the choir entered the sanctuary, I saw him right away - because he was leading the choir in through the front doors.
It always catches me off-guard. It always makes me lose my breath. It always brings tears rolling down my cheeks. Yesterday was the four-year anniversary of his death, which came and went without much notice. I tried to keep busy. I tried not to think about it. I avoided my Grandma all day because I didn't want to sit in sorrow, thinking about how much I miss him and how much I could use him in my life now.
Yet, the tears rolled down as the entire congregation sang "Oh, Come All Ye Faithful." The tears rolled down as I watched him for an hour, across the church.
Still so close to me, but yet still too far away.
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