"Uncle Michael!" Angela could not contain her joy. It had been years since her favorite uncle had been able to make it to Christmas, Christmas being his busiest time of his year.
"Angela, my, how you've grown into such a beautiful young lady."
Uncle Michael looked so distinguished, standing there silhouetted by the moonlight, moonlight softened by its reflection off the snowflakes drifting down. His sky-blue eyes sparkled, filled with a light that made them appear to be filled with heaven itself, his graying hair that once was as honey-gold, but now with the look of well-seasoned dignity; his handsome features now etched with well-placed lines that only deepened his appeal; all these made Uncle Michael the prototype of the man I would one day love.
But of all the qualities, Uncle Michael possessed, it was that deep, yet so gentle baritone voice that caressed you with every mellow word. "Uncle Michael, I was so hoping you would come, now that you've retired. Here, let me take your coat, and yes, your scarf. Oh, it is the scarf I made for you two years ago. You wore it."
"Of course, Angela, it is my favorite."
"Uncle, how is retirement treating you? I am sure this Christmas must seem so strange, you not working and all."
"Oh, yes, it is a bit different not delivering the message this year, but the time had come for new voices to be heard. But this year, I am hear with you."
"Come, let's sit for a moment by the fire. Uncle Michael, I was wondering...'
"Oh, Uncle, I am a bit reluctant to ask. but would you tell the Christmas story after dinner. The children would so love to hear you tell it."
Uncle Michael nodded, even smiled, and whispered, "For you, Sweet Angela, I would sing it from the stars. But only on one condition/"
"And what condition would that be?'
"That you be my Mary."
"Aw, Uncle Michael, you are so sweet. Oh, there's doorbell again. Excuse me, Uncle."