Silent Night

     
We had a St. Nicholaus Day party at Nils's kindergarten a couple weeks ago. I really enjoy these little festivals - giant (kids') tables with cake, cocoa, oranges, and sweets. Songs and little games, nice conversations with the other parents.

Nils, Liv and I left at a moment when no one else was on their way out, and as we pushed through the door from light, energy and warmth to silence, darkness, and cold, I had one of those moments. Supreme peace, supreme happiness. All is right with the world for five precious seconds.

As an introvert, I love time alone. As a Midwesterner of Scandinavian descent, I love the cold. And as me, I love the dark.

For years, my childhood / family's church had a specific ending to the Christmas Eve service. Silent Night. Three stanzas. They dimmed the lights for the first stanza, lowered the organ volume for the second, and completely cut out the accompanying music for the third. Flickering candlelight, air heavy with emotion, voices and voices alone. Oh my lord, it was so beautiful! We filed out afterward into the dark Wisconsin night, sometimes without a word.

I sing to Liv every night before bed. My typical set list is heavy on the old-timey songs. Simple Gifts, Tennessee Waltz, all the stanzas of Home on the Range (!! Can I talk about how much I love this song? Another time...), Big Rock Candy Mountain (Sigh. Guess it's time to take out the alcohol references)... but lately it has been all Silent Night all the time. I'm trying to learn the German version, and Liv lies patiently in her crib while I practice. Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht...

You know what, though? I think I'm trying to pass it to her, that feeling of supreme peace and the sound of Silent Night sung a cappella. Cutie Pie, do you get it? This is the holiest time of the year for us, and it is also the darkest. Do you think that's a coincidence?