Last night, I gathered my children around me and read them one of my favorite stories. It’s not a Christmas story, per se, but I thought of it because of the Christmas season. It is The Selfish Giant by Oscar Wilde. (You can find it here: http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/SelGia.shtml) I can’t read it without tears coming to my eyes. I have read it aloud to my children many times, but it doesn’t matter how often I read it, I still get choked up and have a hard time getting through it. I love that these words move me so.
Also this past week, I came across a piece of artwork of the Christ child. It is beautiful, but what touched me more was the description by the artist of why she painted it the way she did and what it represents. You can read for yourself her description: http://www.jenedypaige.com/gallery/little-lamb/
Recently, I had the chance to speak to a group about my writing, and as part of that, I shared with them my short story, Grandpa (https://maryellenbramwell.com/short-stories/). I hate to admit this, but I know how it’s going to end before I get there, so I start to choke up as I read. It may not choke you up, but to me, these people – only made of words – are real, and so their stories touch me.
I sometimes want to cut off my emotions, to read a passage that touches me and not let it show, but then I realize it makes me human to care. And so I let the tears trickle down my face, because they are tears, evoked by words, but rooted in love.