Glen was a guy who I met when I worked in a sheltered workshop many, many moons ago. If you saw him sitting on a subway you'd think he was an accountant. He dressed conservatively and spoke quietly. Every now and then he'd out with something profound and deep. I've written here on the blog before about Glen, about the time he said 'The years go fast, it's the days that take a long time.' Everyone of us learned to listen carefully when Glen spoke because what came was often a delightful surprise.
As I was sitting here erasing attempt after attempt for something profound to write today, I realized that what I work for came easily for Glen.
He said something about Christmas. We were approaching the season and I asked him what he liked about Christmas. I knew that Glen and his family were church goers and I knew that Glen, himself, had a deep faith. I guessed that he wouldn't mention packages and thought he'd mention something about the birth.
But he didn't.
He said, 'Christmas is the day that it doesn't matter.'
Try as I might, I couldn't get him to elaborate what he meant. I wanted to know what 'it' means. I wanted to know what he was saying. But Glen would never really explain anything, he'd just look at you and smile.
I am the first up as I am every morning. But this morning is different. The Christmas tree was left on over night as is our annual tradition, so I bask in it's glow. The whole city has fallen into silence. No traffic, no revelers, no fights in the alley. It's just quiet.
In that quiet I realized, maybe for the first time, what Glen was saying. And he's right, of course.
Christmas is the day that it doesn't matter.