The miracle of lights.

"How's it going?"

"I'm almost done," answered my wife, from the step ladder. She had been out on the front porch, hanging the 'icicle' lights she likes around the perimeter of the roof. "But this one section of lights just won't work!"

"Bulb out?" I offered, looking at the dark 18" section.

"Yeah, maybe. I tried fussing with the bulbs to see if one was loose." She got down from the step ladder, looked back at her handywork. "Oh well, too many to try and figure out which one."

"Well, this string is a couple of years old. These things were what, all of $5.19 or some such? Can't expect them to last."

"Yeah, I suppose. We'll get new ones next year. I am not taking these down and putting up a different set just because that one little bit is dark."

"Fine with me. Let's go in - dinner's almost ready."

We folded up the ladder, grabbed the box for the lights and went inside. It was ten days before Christmas. Because of other things going on here, we've been a bit slow with all our holiday decorations and shopping stuff this year.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

You couldn't really notice that the one section of lights were out, from either the street or when driving up our long driveway. That's because the porch, classic 1880s Italianate style, steps out and back over the wide front steps, with wings on either side. The dark section of lights was on one side of the protruding part, leaving the illusion that there was an unbroken line of lights across the front, when viewed straight on. It really wasn't until you were coming up the steps that you'd notice, and only then if you were paying particular attention, since there were enough other lights on the front porch to illuminate the whole thing brightly.

Still, you could see it from inside. And perfectionist that I am I would note it every time I walked past the front door, looking out the tall windows on either side.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

We leave the lights on all the time - they are plugged into an outlet which is kind of a pain to access, and since those little lights draw very little power, it is easier to just leave them on for the couple of weeks we have them up each year. This means that the front rooms which are adjacent to the porch all get a fair amount of light at night.

My mother-in-law's bedroom is one of those rooms. We draw the curtains closed, but there's still a glow from the window facing the porch. It actually makes it a little easier to go in and care for her at night, having that additional light. For the most part she doesn't notice this, or comment upon it if she does. But once or twice at night she has called out, asking if there is someone at the door, mistaking the Christmas lights for the usual porch light we turn on for visitors.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Yesterday, after all the local family was gone, the dishes were done from the big feast we'd had, the wrapping paper picked up and the presents placed carefully back under the tree, my wife and I were getting her mom up from her post-visit nap. We got her settled in the front room, where she could view the tree, look at some of the little books of sayings she'd gotten from one of her grandkids. We got her oxygen line sorted out and hooked up for her, made sure the baby monitor was plugged in, and left her to her devices for a while.

As we walked back to the kitchen to put away the dishes and chat about the day, my wife asked "did you notice the porch lights?"

"Um, no. Did the rest of them go out or something?"

"No. Funny thing - that one dark section is now working."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

Now, you may wish to believe that this was just a loose bulb which got rattled back into place by the wind or something. Or that a short in one of the connecting wires got jostled just so and completed the circuit for that section of lights. That would be the so-called "logical" explanation.

But this happened on Christmas, after all. I mean, what more do you need to know? Clearly, God Himself intervened to complete that string of lights. The symbolism couldn't be more appropriate, could it?

Jim Downey