Simeon
His body is weak and achy and old. He shuffles along the cold stone floor, puffing and wheezing in the early morning darkness. He stops for a moment and leans upon his walking stick. He pulls a faded brown cloak more tightly to himself and begins again. Oh, the days stretch behind him, and the shadows nip and tug at him. He glances with a small smile. He knows something they do not.
Even now, the dust of death is on his lips. He is not long for this world. But a light sparkles in his eyes. He will serve until he sees. His faith will be his eyes. Not much longer now. Hope.
His shuffle is interrupted once more. The gloom of early morning is broken by unseen sunlight. It falls in glittering rays around his shoulders in the cold passageway. He laughs aloud and, shaking, raises both arms toward the sky, toward the light only he can feel. “They are here.” His own voice echoes in the dark, but he is in the light. A single tear bumps along a wrinkled cheek. Hope.
The light follows, pouring over his shoulders and pooling on the floor, as he begins again and makes his way to the entry room. His short breath catches in his throat when he sees them. They are here, as countless others have been. This happens every day, in the same way, but today is different.
He breathes deeply and closes his eyes for a moment. Now is the time. His body trembles and he smiles wide. He hurries as his bones will allow, and laughing, he stands before them. He takes the child in his arms. Such beautiful light glitters in his eyes at this moment, those present wonder and marvel at it. He laughs aloud again and holds the child close.
There are no shadows here. No fear of the future or bemoaning of old age. No weariness. Only that permeating light filling the room, filling the world, and hope. Relentless hope.
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