Last Sunday morning, I awoke to music.
The simple strains of “Silent Night” wafted down the hall and into my bedroom.
The old Christmas standard was performed simply, elegantly, on a piano.
Still half asleep, I wondered if my wife Donna had turned the stereo to SD Public Radio or some other station playing Christmas music.
I have sung “Silent Night” as a kid in Christmas programs, as a teenager in German in my high school German club, and as an adult in church.
“Silent Night” continued—softly, elegantly, tenderly.
I was in a reverie. My delight was made all the more so when I discovered that the performer was not the radio but Donna. She seldom plays the piano. I wished she played more.
It was one of life’s transcendent moments, a moment when the Buddha within met the Baby Jesus anew.