Thoughts on Christmas
When you’re five, it feels like a lifetime; those last two weeks before Christmas. Popsicle stick Christmas trees painted green litter the windows of your classroom and you pour over that Christmas list again, again and again. Your letter to Santa starts to turn into a gentle threat letter as the anticipation for your Christmas presents morphs your desire into a more desperate need than you’ve ever known at 5 years old. Tongue stained red from candy canes and the buzz of Christmas Carols--it’s magic.
The anticipation of Christmas this year includes a new little life ushered into our family. Our second baby is due on Christmas, you see. The coos and yawns of a new baby. Forever a new stocking on the mantle and chair at the table. The ushering of this new life is a glittery and wonderful and magical thing.
In the same breath, it comes with the anticipation of pain and needles and bleeding and sleep deprivation. Roller coaster hormones and living in a body that feels as foreign to me as a stranger’s.
But why does that still sound magical? Why on earth am I over the moon for my body to be all ripped up and then not sleep for 6 months? I’m pretty sure that not even Guantanamo Bay guards would subject their prisoners to that.
It is exactly that tug of war between the brokenness of the world and the fullness of God that sets the scene for the entrance of Jesus. A squealing baby born into a broken world. A shunned mother giving birth in a barn (a pile of hay is probably on par with a hospital bed, comfort-wise though).
I guess that’s what I’ve always overlooked about the Christmas story - that while glittery and magical, pain, isolation, and brokenness are written into the story. What freedom! What freedom that our heavy feelings have a place on the mantle beside the nutcrackers and angels. Christmas at its core is both a celebration and cracked. What freedom that mourning is welcome at the feet of Christ. Our Christmas does not need to be wholly magical for it to be whole. Without your pain, brokenness and loss there would be no need for Jesus, no need for Christmas. You can bring your whole self to the holidays this year and trust that you'll be met by a kind Savior, eager to comfort. You'll also likely be met by Christmas cookies, so really what else can you ask for?
To those of us who are content, and for those of us who are in that often painful dance between hope and despair - our Christmas season can be full either way. Our Jesus intimately knows the depth of all three and his promise is that he stands with you through this holiday season - whatever it brings.
