So one of my favorite traditions on Christmas Eve, I wanted to share with you here at the

end of our special Advent series for the year.

I couldn't think of a better way to end it than to have two stories red to us that each

mean a lot to me for two different reasons.

One, it's our family legacy and one is legacy of Jesus.

And so first my dad is going to read us the story the night before Christmas.

The night before Christmas was the night before Christmas when all through the house, not

a creature with story, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with tear and hosts at St. Nicholas soon would

be there.

The children were nestled, all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced

in their heads.

And a mom had percourchived and ironed my cap and just sell her brains for a long winter's

nap.

When out of the loan there arose such a clatter.

I sprained from a bed to see what was the matter.

A weight of the window, I flew like a flash to open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave the luster of mid-data objects below.

But what do my wandering eyes should appear but a minute or so slay and a tiny reindeer?

With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew at a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid denegles as corsets they came and he quistled and shouted and called them

by name.

...