Once every year, my 24 aunts and uncles and my 60 cousins (about) come into St. Francis Church.
To the right, up the stairs, we stop at a long flat part in the stairs and hang up our jackets.
Dressed in the most festive and dressy clothing, we gather the books. Julie, my aunt, the youngest of the 12, and the most artistic (when it comes to piano), starts to play.
We are the choir for Christmas Eve mass.
You can hear us if you really listen quietly and separate us into four groups. The basses (most of my uncles), the tenors (my dad and a couple of my uncles), altos (me and mom and some of my cousins and aunts). We are a family. We are a choir. On Christmas Eve we reunite. In the light we sing as one. As we sing I can feel God, I know he's there, in each one of us. As some sit silently praying, others join in the song. But we can celebrate him, we can feel him, we can worship him. He is born.
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