The Timeless Father: A Christmas Visit...

Dear Readers,

The soft glow of Christmas lights wrapped around my living room like a warm embrace, casting a gentle, golden hue on the walls. The scent of pine mingled with the sweet aroma of cinnamon and cloves, a reminder of past holidays spent with laughter and joy. I stood by the old, brass compass on the polished wooden table, its metallic sheen catching the soft light. Tonight, the season of giving and wonder called to me, pulling at my heart with a whisper I couldn’t ignore.

It was Christmas Eve, a time when hope seemed boundless, and memories were cherished. Yet, as the world outside prepared for the festivities, my heart ached with longing. I hadn't seen my children in what felt like forever, and though I knew they were safe and loved, a father’s heart is never at peace without seeing his children. The compass, my most guarded secret, warmed beneath my touch as if it knew what I sought. With a deep breath, I pressed your palm against it, feeling the familiar pulse of magic surging through your veins.

The room melted away, replaced by a chorus of snowflakes falling like stars from the sky. I found myself standing at the edge of a quaint, snow-dusted village square, lit by twinkling Christmas lights that hung like stars across the rooftops. The air was crisp and filled with the laughter of children, the music of carolers drifting through the night like a hymn. And there, by the fountain in the center, my children were playing, wrapped in cozy winter coats and scarves. Their laughter rang out, mingling with the chime of distant bells.

My daughter, her eyes bright with excitement, was building a snowman, her hands gloved but rosy from the cold. my son was nearby, helping a younger child sled down a gentle hill, his face lit with a smile that seemed too pure for the troubles of the world. It was Christmas Eve, and for this moment, they were untouched by anything that could make their hearts heavy. They were safe. They were happy.

A warm sense of peace washed over me mingled with bittersweet longing. The snow beneath my feet crunched softly, a grounding sound in a world that felt so fragile, so fleeting. I watched as my daughter stopped building the snowman and looked up at the star-strewn sky as if waiting for something. my heart ached with the thought that she could feel me, see me in the quiet way children do when they sense an unspoken presence.

But the compass hummed, a reminder that time was a fragile thread, pulling me back to where I belonged. I couldn’t stay, but I could hold onto this moment, this gift of a Christmas Eve shared from afar. I stepped forward, whispering, “Merry Christmas, my loves,” my voice was a breeze lost in the snow.

With one final look, I saw my son glance over his shoulder, as if a spark of recognition flared in his eyes, and my heart soared. The warmth of their laughter, the glow of their love, would carry me through the seasons, reminding me that I was always with them, even if just in spirit.

The compass vibrated, urging me to return, and with a final breath of the winter air, I was pulled back to my quiet room, the living room now aglow with the light of the tree and the distant chime of the grandfather clock. It was Christmas Eve, and though I was not there in the world of snow and laughter, I was there in their hearts, a father who would always watch, always protect.

And as the clock struck midnight, I whispered, “Until next Christmas, my dears.” The room was still, save for the steady ticking and the warmth of hope that filled the space between each moment.

Jacob M