I hope you had a beautiful Christmas!
Ours was full — baking goodies, singing beloved hymns, church services and preparing our hearts again for the joy of Christ come to earth. Benjamin took me to a Celtic Christmas concert, and the music was gorgeous. My favorite moment was hearing the Irish band play Silent Night softly, while an actual Scottish storyteller read the account of Christ’s birth from Luke. It felt like the whole room was holding its breath and was truly beautiful.
For nearly a year, the girls had been talking about making a Beef Wellington. So this Christmas they decided: this was the year. Natalie took the lead in the kitchen, and somehow — between barn chores and music practice — they pulled it off. A beautiful Beef Wellington, flaky and rich, with a savory sirloin tip roast on the inside, sitting at the center of the table.
They asked that we all dress up fancy for supper — so of course their brother Gordon came down in a T-shirt with a clip-on tie (and was promptly sent back upstairs, ha!).
My dad joined us for the meal. He surprised everyone by arriving in the tuxedo he wore to my brother’s wedding — black bow tie, dress shoes and all — with his graying beard, a twinkle in his eye, and his English-gentleman mannerisms.
When he came in he announced he’d read that for optimal health a person needs eight hugs a day. He had already hugged my mom — who lives in assisted living and can’t travel — before coming. With seven of us at home, he said his day was covered.
Over supper he told the girls the history of Beef Wellington, quoted Pride and Prejudice (“Which of your fair daughters has prepared this elegant entertainment?”), and then asked if they knew how Silent Night came to be written.
He shared that on Christmas Eve in 1818, in the small Austrian village of Oberndorf, parish priest Joseph Mohr wrote the German text of Silent Night at St. Nicholas Church. The church organ had broken — a very relatable moment, my dad noted, since he himself is a pipe organ builder. With no organ music for the service, Mohr asked his friend, the organist Franz Gruber, to compose a simple melody that could be sung with a guitar. That night, in candlelight, the hymn was performed for the first time — humbly, accompanied only by a guitar, with villagers’ voices rising softly in the small church.
It struck me how perfect it was that such a beloved hymn began in such simplicity — no swelling organ, just human voices learning a new song for the first time: “Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht…”
I find it wonderful that such a beloved hymn began so simply, and it makes me think of how often God works that way:
Through seemingly simple gifts.
Around ordinary families and familiar places.
In moments that don’t look impressive — but are holy:
“Silent night, holy night,
Son of God, love’s pure light
Radiant beams from Thy holy face,
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.”
From our farm and family to yours, may your Christmas season be filled with peace, good food, and the joy of Christ with us.
Merry Christmas!
Leah
