The first story of Christmas was the story of Jesus’ parents who arrived at Bethlehem from a long trip and went from house to house to find a bed so that they can sleep from a long trek. They could only find a haystack in a farm for a bed; but it was from such a lowly, humble place that the story of hope, faith and love began.
Nothing expresses more succinctly the spirit of Christmas than a song or a poem that comes like a song. We very well know how the Christmas message is embodied in the legend of Christ’s nativity in Bethlehem. It was told, angels sang on high the joyful tidings, proclaiming the Glory of God — Gloria in Excelsis Deo — and trumpeting the message of peace and goodwill to earth’s humankind.
Yesterday, a group of three young Lumad mothers and four very young children including a one-year-old baby came to the house to ask for pinaskohan (Christmas presents). No sooner had they announced their purpose in coming than I ushered them into the courtyard of my house and bade them settle on the benches and table that used to be utility components of our defunct bakeshop.
One of the condemnable things during the December 9 bus bombing in Maramag, Bukidnon was that dozens of students from high school and college were not spared from the incident.
