O Holy Night by Beth Kephart

(I probably don't need to give an introduction to Beth Kephart on this blog, but she's a fantastic author and blogger, and wonderful friend to all who love books. I was honored she wrote this guest post about what happens to be my favorite Christmas song.)

I wanted to sing “O Holy Night” more than anything for the Christmas show. It seemed most hallowed, most lovely, most timeless—words I would not have known to use then, back in fourth grade; it was just this feeling I had.

And so, for weeks, I practiced the song—its high notes, its phrasing, the small hidden places inside which a breath might be stolen. In the bathroom I sang it, in my mother’s bedroom, on the path to school, on the bridge above the creek, in the white music room of the elementary school alongside the black piano, until finally the day came for the show.

I hadn’t counted on being so petrified. On having my throat close and my lungs run dry. I hadn’t counted on the bright white light that found me on that stage in that auditorium in a dress I don’t remember. I remember closing my eyes and praying that the words would find their own way. I remember the piano playing and the song coming and my eyes opening again, against that spotlight. It was round and white and refracted, a halo, I thought. A presence. So that now, every Christmas, “O Holy Night” is just that—the sound of something hallowed, and a halo.