I’ve never experienced a Christmas that felt less like Christmas than this one does.
It’s Christmas Eve, but it feels like just another gray and rainy winter day. I had some work to do at the office, but I was the only one in the building. By the time I left around 3:30 p.m., the rain had stopped and the clouds started to clear as the winds turned bitterly cold.
I didn’t want to be alone, but I couldn’t think of anywhere to be with anybody who I wanted to see. I had planned to go to a Christmas Eve service at my church. There were three services through the afternoon and evening, to accommodate the crowds and still maintain safe distances. But I suddenly realized that if I couldn’t be with a family of my own, the last thing I wanted was to see other happy and loving families together.
As I drove home — lost in thoughts of missing connection — I remembered the chapel at a monastery along my route. I wasn’t dressed appropriately, but I stopped and asked the guard at the gate whether the chapel was open. He warmly encouraged me to go right in.
“There’s a service at 8 tonight, but you’d be the only one in there right now,” he said.

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