Peace on Earth found in the quiet moments

 When I think back to Christmases past, it’s not big celebrations that first come to mind. The memories I cherish are those slivers of quiet time, slipped in at the end of the night on Christmas Eve or at dawn on Christmas Day while everyone else was sleeping.

We spent every other Christmas Eve at Uncle Roy and Aunt Virgie’s home in what I considered the big city of Moorhead, Minn., when I was growing up. The off years my parents hosted Christmas Eve on the farm.

Spending Christmas in the “city” was always more lavish, simply because they always had way more money than my family.

My cousins’ presents far outnumbered ours and they’d tear into their gifts like a pack of crazed wolves. Sure, we had a blast playing with new toys and games, but what I remember about that continuous display of over-indulgence is that it was a little bit overwhelming for me and my brothers. We were shy country bumpkins; they were sophisticated city slickers.

One of the most memorable things about those Christmases was the 35-mile ride home. Dad would have the car all warm and toasty and we’d be crammed into the back seat, sated from a night of excess. I’d look at the blur of Christmas light displays through frosted windows with such a peaceful glow.

It was a feeling of complete abandon, knowing that Dad would safely haul us home and even carry us to our beds if we were sound asleep.

I have always craved solitude on some level. And finding those peaceful moments has become more challenging. The constant drone of a boisterous society feels suffocating at times.

I still purposely stay up late those evenings just before and after Christmas so I can sit and gaze at the Christmas tree lights in otherwise total darkness and quietness. This is where I find peace on Earth. Singing “Silent Night” during our church’s candlelight service on Christmas Eve is another of those special moments. So is cross-country skiing by myself through the woods.

About 12 years ago I interviewed a woman who at the time had taken vows to become a hermit priest with the Episcopal Church. She was living by herself in a sparsely furnished home in Marion. I was intrigued with her calling to life a life of prayer and solitude.

I remember her explaining how the deepest connection to God came during silent prayers as daylight turned into darkness.

I dug up my story to remember exactly what I’d written:

“When I wrote my vows it was like a glacier cut through me,” she told me. “The souls of my soul quaked.” This hermit priest’s promise was to covenant herself to God in a life of prayer, silence, solitude and study.

“I see the silent, the empty, the hidden, that when all else is gone, God will be there and I will belong to God completely...”

It’s that clarity we’re perhaps all searching for on some level. My wish to you this Christmas season is that you’ll find your own peace on Earth, your own moments with God, whether it’s sitting in the dark mesmerized by the glow of colored lights or lighting a candle on Christmas Eve.

Merry Christmas to all, and God bless us every one.

Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by e-mail at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com