Winter has a way of reminding me that we're not infallible.
Already this season, we've weathered pneumonia, ear infections, and colds. Two nights ago I slept by the light of the Christmas tree, not in a sweet time of tradition, but as caretaker of two kids stricken by a horrific stomach bug. Just before writing this, I had a baby curled on my chest and a three-year-old snuggled into my side, all of us in pajamas with hair askew.
My plans of a busy, bustling Christmas Eve have to be laid aside. Today will be filled with snuggles and Netflix, chicken soup and gatorade, with trash bag lined buckets close by.
Every December, I read Ann Voskamp's Advent devotional, The Greatest Gift. Her words make me slow down, just for a minute, to soak in the holiness of this season of waiting.
"We are most prepared for Christ, for Christmas, when we confess we are mostly not prepared...Christmas humbles: we are not the givers we long to be. Nor are we the receivers God woos us to be...So you let the last of the trimmings go. Cease the pace to do, buy, produce more...And you can feel the space become a sanctuary. Sanctity stilling the crush. Glory overshadowing everything else."
And so today, I will slow down and confess that I'm not prepared, nor will I be. There are presents that won't be wrapped, food that won't be cooked, rooms that won't be cleaned, plans that will be undone. Yet at the end of a busy season in a whirlwind year, I can't say that I'm disappointed to just sit in the slowness.
Whatever your Christmas looks like this year, may you rest in knowing that Christ has come, and He's coming again.
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