One of the great joys of Christmas is a chance to sit in the dark enjoying the dancing lights and sparkling bobbles that turn a small fir tree into an object of wonder.

It gives us the chance to quietly sit and ponder the events that occurred since the last time we enjoyed this quiet moment free from dinging smartphones, cable TV, the internet and the nasty politics of hate.

When you are as old as your grandparents (or even an old scribbler like me), you notice changes.

I remember my mom musing about how lucky her father was to have watched the world transformed by a series of discoveries, from the telegraph to the airplane. Other generations saw science conquer ailments that scared us so much we feared speaking names like scarlet fever, polio, tuberculosis, malaria and smallpox.

They also survived the Great Depression, other economic panics, the Industrial Revolution and still raised their kids.

In my time, and maybe yours, we witnessed the creation of the atomic bomb, a weapon so terrible that those who possess it are afraid to use it. We watched a ride in a rocket ship to space go from a historic achievement to a tourist ride for those who have more money than sense.

We marvel and moan about change but still embrace it.

In some states, they use atomic energy to power electrical devices and help doctors fight cancer. Rockets that blast astronauts and tourists to the edge of space can carry the same satellites into orbit that guide our cars to grandmother’s house.

The same scientists who figured out how to guide rockets invented the computers we use every day. Even old dogs like me would not like to dust off the old Royal or Underwood to write an occasional column.

On a local level, not too many years ago, our little community was in a swivet over the closing of our little local hospital or the idea that officials planned to modify a highway intersection.

Now, we have accepted those changes or, at the least, quit griping about them.

But in this season of reflection, as we experience a world filled with the evils of terror, hate and uncertainty, we have seen the best of humanity play out before our eyes.

We see people from away journey to help strangers whose homes and lives were turned upside down by a terrible storm. We see neighbors helping neighbors as local food banks spring up to help the less fortunate keep the wolf from the door. Even TV stations collect toys, coats, and mittens to help others.

Our communities feed and shelter the homeless and care for other unfortunates felled by the pandemic.

Not far from our little house on the hill, we watched as a young man put his life on hold to help his brother escape the terrible addiction of the age. “He is my brother,” he said. “It is what families do, right?”

Maybe that is what Christmas is all about.

It is a time to put aside the clamor and confusion of today’s world and do what families and neighbors have done forever.

I seem to remember the Good Book relating a story where a skeptic asked a teacher to name the greatest commandment.

For more than 2,000 years, through hundreds of translations and interpretations, this skeptic always gets the same answer: Love.

Christmas is more than bright presents under the tree or stockings filled with goodies. It is more than a simmering roast ringed with veggies and glasses of cheer. Christmas is not the sound of bells, corny tunes like “I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus,” or the great choral works of the ages. Christmas is the warm feeling you get when you reach out to family and friends.

So, when you wake up on Christmas morning, before you open presents and find yourself overwhelmed by football, after holiday sales pitches, and another robocall from the lady inquiring about your auto warranty policy, think about your family and friends.

Please take a few moments to reach out and let them know you care about them.

The folks here at the Boothbay Register and Wiscasset Newspaper want to offer our best Merry Christmas wishes to our faithful readers and advertisers.

And please accept a special Christmas wish from an old scribbler.