Angels Jump on High
Lynn Horton is a freelance writer and editor who in another lifetime taught English and Creative Writing at McIntosh High School and later worked in the Starr’s Mill High School Media Center.

Angels Jump on High

lynn-head-shot
Lynn Horton is a freelance writer and editor who in another lifetime taught English and Creative Writing at McIntosh High School and later worked in the Starr’s Mill High School Media Center

With the exception of this nasty sore throat and the looming presence of a cold promising to slow me down less than a week before Christmas, everything else about the week has been just wonderful! Especially Sunday night when a little angel wrapped her precious arms around my waist, tilted her beautiful heart-shaped face up into mine, and smiling with lips shaped like Cupid’s bow, whispered, “Merry Christmas, Miss Lynn. I jumped.”
But I’m getting ahead of myself. So, on Wednesday I attended the Multicultural Winter Celebration for young storytellers and listeners hosted by the Southern Crescent Storytellers at the PTC library. What a treat. Eight-year old Mia Morris stole the show with her rendition of the classic Gingerbread Man. Then on Friday night, Bill and I were blown away by The Annie Moses Band at The Centre. Do not miss this group if ever they grace a stage in this area again! Dynamite strings; three fiddles, a cello, harp, grand piano plus percussion and two keyboards, just in case there was a sound the instruments or the absolutely heavenly voices could not create! Six siblings, a few spouses and one or two others thrown in for good measure, this troupe made all the old Christmas favorites come alive. Joy. Pure unadulterated JOY!
Saturday morning I met with the Senoia Writer’s Group at the Senoia Library where instead of trading stories, we traded silly Christmas gifts, and then RE-traded silly gifts. Some were not so silly; some were so cool that the one I brought home is wrapped and under the tree for what will be a very, very surprised husband on Christmas Eve. Very surprised. (I can’t tell you what it is yet as he might read this and then not be at all surprised. So, shhhhh.)  And if that wasn’t enough fun for one day, Bill and I got all spiffed up (he in his red bow tie and I in my fur-trimmed wrap), dropped in at the Reeder’s home on Pylant Street for a most delightful party with old friends and plenty of new faces, too. A beautiful night allowed guests access to the patio of their lovely historic home (aka ” the pudding house,” a favorite stop for local Walking Dead tour groups). Lots of friends from the Historical Society, and several folks Bill and I have known since our days at PTC Christian Church but had not seen in forever were there; what a nice surprise! We enjoyed many shared memories as we munched on the fabulous pork, stuffed mushrooms and German Chocolate cake. That wasn’t, of course, all offered, just my happiest picks. Yum. Thank you Steph and Dale for your warm hospitality.
Although it would have been nice to sleep in, we made it to church in time for Sunday School and to celebrate Advent; I had been given the honor of reading the day’s scripture; from Luke 1:45-55, “Mary’s Song of Praise, The Magnificat.”  I would not have missed that! Such beautiful words, such a beautiful sentiment—love and obedience. Sweet. Sweet. And then the choir treated us to a preview of the evening’s special program with a teaser. Wow.
So, Sunday evening found us back at Sharpsburg Baptist, the little white clapboard church with the lovely old stained glass windows on Highway 54 where an angel wrapped her precious arms around my waist, tilted her beautiful  heart-shaped face up into mine, and smiling with lips shaped like Cupid’s bow, whispered, ” Merry Christmas. I jumped.”
“You did what, Georgia?” I exclaimed in honest awe. “I jumped,” she repeated. “On my horse. You know, I jumped.”  Well, Of course. I knew that. I think. Then I remembered. The last time we talked, this little equestrian angel had filled me in on her horseback riding adventure. “Now, you be sure to let me know when your first show is,” I told her sincerely, “I really want to go and see you jump.”
I held my breath through much of the musical program Sunday night. Our church choir, masterfully directed by Damon Skelton, had magically grown from the usual 16 or 18 to a miraculous 26 strong, and there was a packed house to hear the beautiful strains of the old familiar carols as well as jazzy modern renditions of songs telling the age-old story of the birth of Christ. Mark Carroll changed his hat from teacher and basketball referee to practiced narrator of the story proclaiming the coming of the Light of the World. The Tolleson’s—mom, dad, two brothers and sister Georgia, who dramatized, first, a modern-day family searching the skies for shooting stars, were then quietly transformed into a precious nativity tableau.
Though there were only two kings, the brothers, Truman and Lincoln, regally garbed and crowned with headdresses befitting potentates from the mysterious East, filled the stage with their presence as they bowed before the manger. Mother Carla and dad Kevin looked lovingly at the babe while sister-angel spread her graceful eight-year-old arms over her kneeling family. If that isn’t enough to bring tears to your eyes, then you are made of tougher stuff than I!
I love imagining this same scene being played out all over the world, a world craving peace and an end to the brutality of war, to disease, poverty, and to senseless cruelty. As people across the globe kneel at the manger, and there are billions of us, honoring the beloved Christ child, I offer the single commandment Jesus later gave as the solution to all the world’s ills. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart… and you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Love promises Hope.
Merry Christmas, precious friends. I think I’ll just jump for Joy. Join me.