"Fog" for Christmas

The spirit of Christmas is elusive.  It is beyond our grasp.  The beauty, the love which is Christmas hovers over and around us.  It’s so real and so near, we think we can hold it in our fists.  But when we open our hands, it’s not there.   Like fog.

Carl Sandburg wrote a very short poem about the fog.  Twenty-one words.  Pansy knows my strong interest in Sandburg, so several Christmases ago, she had that poem matted and framed for me.

His “Fog” poem starts this way:

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

In that same silent way, the spirt of Christmas settles upon us -- often in spite of ourselves.  We are wrapped in it for a brief time.  Like the fog, the Christmas spirit leaves its imprint.  As with the fog, so with the spirit of Christmas: We feel it, we bask in it, but it doesn’t linger.

Notice, Sandburg likened the fog to a cat’s quiet entrance.  You don’t hear the kitty as she comes into the room.

The carol, “O, Little Town of Bethlehem,” speaks of the silent coming of Christ:

How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given.
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming, but in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him still, the dear Christ enters in.

Sandburg also points to the fog’s silent exodus:

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

If you've ever walked in the fog very long, you’re probably glad to get in out of it.  You may feel soggy or soppy.  You may feel that way about Christmas:  Glad when it silently moves on.


But the true Spirit of Christmas is the Spirit of Jesus.   Unlike the fog, and unlike the fleeting feelings of the holidays, Christ’s Spirit always surrounds us. We may not always be aware of the Spirit’s presence, but we need to be sensitive to silent moments as He comes “on little cat feet.”