The Tree

The early morning darkness wrapped me snugly like a black straight-jacket. I looked at my watch; I had been running for nearly an hour. As my legs worked, my mind contemplated the world’s troubles. I started globally: Tension in the Middle East and war in Afghanistan.  I then moved closer to home: The fiscal cliff, the economy and the horrific school shooting in Connecticut.  And then I struggled with my own personal problems.

The gloom in my heart rivaled the gloom of the night.

That gloom (and the darkness surrounding me) robbed me of all my senses except hearing. I heard my labored breathing.  A dog barked in the distance.  A sudden breeze blew peacefully through the pines as if announcing something grand up ahead.

I crossed a bridge and looked to the left. There, on a dock on an inlet of the Ross Barnett Reservoir, was a brightly illuminated Christmas tree. It’s light, reflecting off the water, burned through the darkness like a torch valiantly fighting back the gloom.

And at that moment, I realized what Christmas means to me.  It’s the promise of hope. The innocence of a newborn child.  The gift of forgiveness. And promise of a new beginning.

As I stared at the tree, the sun began to rise. It’s rays battled the night’s gloom. I knew that light would defeat darkness.

I looked at the brightly lit Christmas tree one last time, said a prayer of thanks and ran home with peace in my heart.