It was a short drive we’d made hundreds of times before, yet on Christmas Eve night of my seventh year, the gravel road felt different beneath the car. From my spot in the backseat, I gazed at the glittery night. Snow-covered fields stretched beneath a moon so full it nearly swallowed the land. Momma turned up the radio when Bing Crosby dreamed of a white Christmas and for once, for us, a white Christmas would be real.

And I wondered if every seventh Christmas brought snow.Continue Reading