The Christmas Eve services went well and were enjoyable. The sermon was mercifully brief, an early Christmas gift to the congregation. As usual, it was aimed at the many visitors and occasional attendees who come to church only on Christmas Eve and perhaps on Easter and Good Friday. As we prepared to sing Silent Night and light candles, the first assistant preacher, the prophetic one, harshed our mellow a little bit by insisting that we remember those who will wake on Christmas morning to spiritual darkness. The choir enjoyed fellowship between the services at a supper of grits and shrimp provided by my fellow tenor, an expat Carolinian.
Now it's Christmas morning, and Mrs Vache Folle and I have enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with the newspaper. At present, she is baking a cake to take to Christmas dinner with friends. Songbirds are swarming the feeder outside the picture window by the kitchen, and the dogs are on the lookout for critters to chase. The world is blanketed in snow from last weekend's storm. I am truly blessed.