After last year’s Christ­mas post, one could be for­giv­en for respond­ing to this news with a bit of (good-natured, I’d hope) rib­bing, but:

I’ve just writ­ten a new Christ­mas song.

The world, you see, is full of un-beau­ti­ful stuff right now.  And while I do still firm­ly believe that the con­tem­po­rary Amer­i­can approach to Christ­mas is large­ly a man­i­fes­ta­tion of—if not even a source of—that stuff, I also think that the heart of the Christ­mas sto­ry points us toward truths that are beautiful—that that sto­ry can serve as an anti­tox­in, if you will, for what is poi­son­ing our soci­ety today.

Some­times I just need reminders to prac­tice seek­ing beau­ty in unex­pect­ed places, I guess.  So here’s my lat­est attempt.  Take it to heart, if you like.  (And if you real­ly love it, you can pur­chase print music for this piece.)

“Kind of Christmas”

w&m ©2018 David M. Glas­gow (ASCAP)

A qui­et time with ones you love,
with­out a thought for what’s beneath the tree.…
It’s dark out­side. The earth is cold.
But in this house, you’re safe with fam­i­ly.
Around the room you see all your favorite faces,
though they don’t all resem­ble your own.
And in the still of this silent night,
you know for more than sure you’re not alone.

Bun­dled up in mis­matched clothes,
and singing songs whose words you don’t quite know.…
Noth­ing here is per­fect, but
there’s no place else on earth you’d rather go.
The fairy tales about angels, kings, and shep­herds
fill those younger than you with delight.
And some­how the thought of that lit­tle town
works mag­ic on your jad­ed heart tonight.

Immanuel: Even here, even now, you’re not alone.
Not a place, but a pres­ence, makes this home.
And though some­times you for­get,
Immanuel: Some­thing greater than the lies you’ve heard is true.
You have a home, no mat­ter what you do.
And you know it, too.
That’s the kind of Christ­mas I wish for you.

You share a glance, a bash­ful smile,
and yesterday’s regrets dis­solve away.
Wound­ed pride and hurt­ful words,
they mat­ter less than fam­i­ly today.
You start to see the full val­ue of for­give­ness,
and you promise to do, or to try.
And with those words, you find, in the bleak mid­win­ter,
that the stars all shine brighter in the sky.

Immanuel: Even here, even now, you’re not alone.
Not a place, but a pres­ence, makes this home.
And though some­times you for­get,
Immanuel: Some­thing greater than the lies you’ve told is true.
You have a home, no mat­ter what you do.
And you know it, too.
That’s the kind of Christ­mas—
a holy kind of Christ­mas—
that’s the kind of Christ­mas I wish for you.