It’s Christmas Day, all snowy and bright. As I sat staring out the window at the wide landscape swathed in white and thinking about the image I would create for this day, my thoughts turned to Mary – a strong, faithful, courageous, young, beautiful woman, a mother. There wouldn’t be a Christmas to celebrate without her, but with each passing year it seems to me as if that very idea might slip sadly into obscurity.
I haven’t put up holiday decorations in my house for years…partly because it seems I’ve always been on the go and partly because I bristle at the commercial aspects of Christmas. And yet I love the season. I find the greatest joy in remembering the many ways in which my life has been blessed, the good friends I have had, the comforts I’ve known, and the great kindnesses that have been shown to me. My favorite Christmases have had little to do with me and everything to do with others for whom I could do something nice.
This Mary, who seems deep in thought or prayer, was a favorite possession of my sweet dad. He found her somewhere in Tuscany while serving part of his tour of duty during WWII in