Silent Night

The crowd buzzed. Thousands of onlookers packed into the street to witness the tree lighting extravaganza.

She’d never been to one of these ceremonies before. She didn’t know what to expect. She just hoped to hear some good holiday songs. She loved Christmas carols—this was her guilty secret—not the weird modern ones, it was the “classics” she loved, those sung by Bing Crosby or Nat King Cole.

She watched the interpreter signing for the hearing impaired in the crowd, and wondered if he knew that his motions were like a beautiful dance?

And then, the singer-in-charge called them all to join him in singing “Silent Night”—one of her favorite of all favorite Christmas Carols. She thought about the stories she’d heard of troops actually stopping fighting on the battlefield to sing this song together. She thought of her nephew just now signing up to join the military.

Oh holy night…

She thought of the time she sang this song one of the last times she was in a church—how everyone left the sanctuary holding a lit candle and singing this song as they walked out.

The stars are brightly shining…

She thought how beautiful we sound—all of us, singing Silent Night. How beautiful we are as we sing this song…

How beautiful we are as we sing…

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