"Butter-fly"  our two-year-old Ace calls the celestial what is familiar to him. 

Imagine shepherds quieting the sheep, preparing to rest while all is calm. Suddenly the skies are brilliant and the night sky, which only speaks during thunder storms, is filled with vibrato of the celestial.

Can  you imagine?

Is there anything you have experienced that can compare?

Heaven speaking in song.

Lyrics of promise and hope poured upon their heads.

Angels rejoicing, dancing in midair.

Shepherds were considered lowly, insignificant, paupers.

But they got to see!

Heaven was happy! It had to tell somebody! Heaven did not consider them lowly. Heaven was reaching to save.

"The King of heaven is born on earth. Born to save man. Born to give what every man fights to keep. Life. Hope is born. Hope of man having the ability to have the kind of peace that passes all understanding. Man does not yet understand how wonderful their future can now be. We see and we understand! We cannot keep our song to ourselves."

I have often wondered what the shepherds told their families. What kind of stories did their grandchildren get to hear?

"I was guarding sheep one evening when out of nowhere silence was broken by the happiest of sounds. Angels rejoicing, a trumpet sounding. I cannot describe it in earth tones. And then we saw Him, a babe. A babe who was called King by those who knew Him before."

We often imagine a silent night, we sing the song we know. The shepherds might offer another perspective, "Heaven burst upon us with the songs that angels sing . . . celebration! And they told us where we could find Him, the reason for their song! And now we have a new song to sing! Rejoice! Rejoice!"

This is the reason of Christmas. Ace called the angel a butterfly. It is what he knows. Have you heard the angel's song? If you listen very, very close, you might hear it. Shhhh . . . listen . . . they're still singing. The song delivered that night will never be silenced. Praise Him! Praise Him! 

Praying that you hear it, too! 

"It is not a butterfly, Lovey. It is an angel!" I tell him.

"Aaan-Gel?" he reaches for understanding.

I am reaching, too. How about you?

Praying you hear the beautiful sound, my friend. The sound of redemption is the most glorious sound of all. Heaven sings! Yes, heaven sings! 

"Hark the herald, angels sing, Glory to the newborn King. Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled . . . " and so the song goes.

Merry Christmas!