Christmas is a special time of the year.

Once a year, young and old have the opportunity to develop a childlike heart and to give and receive.

Decorations go up; trees are adorned; gifts purchased and, on Christmas Day, families, small and large, gather together.

Since Dec. 24, 2007, Christmas has remained a quiet time of reflection and gratitude for me.

Six years ago, this Christmas Eve, I was admitted into the VA hospital in Wilkes-Barre due to an illness, not knowing if I would live or die, but knowing the next few weeks would be difficult ones.

Like most people, before that time, I understood the importance and meaning of Christmas.

I understood the holiday was about sharing, giving, receiving and appreciation.

I further understood, from a Christian perspective, an infant was born 2,000 years ago to take the place of our imperfections, follies and defects so we could live.

However, it wasn't until six years ago I realized I knew nothing.

For the first time in my life, I was physically helpless.

Before that date, I considered myself a fairly self-sufficient, strong, adept and confident individual.

Sitting in a hospital bed on Christmas Eve with IVs pumping medication into my body and a surgery scheduled for the day after Christmas abruptly changed how I saw myself and of the Christmas season.

On Christmas Day 2007, I recall waking up, disorientated and stumbling to the bathroom, asking myself: "Why me, why, of all times, during Christmas?"

Not long after I positioned myself back into the hospital bed, did a priest appear in my room. He introduced himself and simply asked if he could pray for me. I agreed and the priest bowed his head, shut his eyes, said a few words and placed holy water on my forehead. After the priest's prayer, came my own, vulnerable prayer for a second chance at life.

Although I was baptized in a church as a child, it had been nearly 20 years since I invested any real thought– let alone a passing thought – on dying and life after death.

It was on Christmas Day 2007 I received a crash course on the true meaning of life and of living and Christmas.

By the grace of the creator of the universe and excellent nurses and doctors, I made it through the next four weeks in the hospital.

In hindsight, I realize with each passing year, it wasn't my strength that got me through those days and weeks, but a Christmas miracle.

It is a miracle I recognize and accept more with each passing year.

Since then, I have developed an appreciation for the little things in life – a beautiful sunset, snow glistening off tree branches, a hot cup of Starbucks coffee, among many other things.

Yet, there is one thing in particular I have embraced and appreciated far more, and that is life itself.

Life is short. It is fleeting. It is fraught with successes and happiness, along with failures and sadness and pain. And while many of us say we understand death will eventually greet us, for many, it has not yet become a personal reality.

The prospect of death knocking on the door of my life has opened up a journey the past six years that, while difficult and unpredictable, I consider a blessing.

For it was six years ago on Christmas Eve that my dark, dead world became brighter, more alive and real.

During this Christmas holiday, I urge you reading my words to spend less time on the material aspects of the holiday and a little more time on the history of Christmas and your faith and attempt to see the blessings in your life despite the challenges you may have had to manage and overcome.

Albert Einstein said, "There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle."

Christmas miracles, I now believe, do occur.

This year, more than ever, I accept and celebrate, in my own way, my Christmas miracle.

For those of you seeking, hoping and praying for your Christmas miracle, I hope you find it.

Mark Reccek

editorial assistant

Whitehall Coplay Press

Northampton Press

Catasauqua Press