This isn’t what I intended to write….
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The Christmas Eve candlelight service is about to begin. After a day of unsuccessfully trying to avoid meltdowns from over-excited kids, running to the store for one last bag of milk, and racking your brain to remember where on earth you stashed those gifts you bought back in August, you sink wearily into the pew.
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My dad's grandmother was the embodiment of hospitality. She raised her family of thirteen children in the tiny farming community of Wicklow, New Brunswick. She had no washing machine, no dishwasher, no indoor plumbing. But that didn't stop her from creating a home marked by generosity.
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