It's 2:13 AM, Santa has come and gone, everything's wrapped and ready for tomorrow. There are gifts under the tree to hand out, presents from the "Big Fella" (as he's known at Boy House)attractively arranged, every dish (but one with a left over cracker and a half bottle of coke) is neatly washed and put away. We all worked together to wash walls, vacuum nooks and crannies, clean bedrooms and, Christmas miracle, the laundry room is clean with only 5 unwashed batches, can you hear the heavenly choirs? Even the pans, and utensils, serving platters and non-perishables are neatly arranged ready for our annual Christmas Breakfast.
This is my favorite time of Christmas, everything is perfect, like a snowy yard with no footprints or tip-tilted snowmen wearing, soggy scarfs and leaves that didn't get raked.
I wander through the silent house enjoying the lights, the decorations, full candy dishes, containers of fudge and cookies, brimming and ready to serve. I smile at the perfectly wrapped gifts and careful arrangement of packaged toys, and brand new clothes. I take pictures of the perfection like a picture will freeze it, make it last, quiet the chaos that will erupt as seven boys, a tired husband, and 40-50 breakfast guests crowd into our average size home.
I find my mind drawn to a still, silent night. I have felt the euphoria that comes after the labor and work of a birth is done, when the overwhelming pressure is over and the baby is cradled in my arms, fingers and toes examined, everything perfect. But that night in Bethlehem, that perfect, quiet moment was not what saved me, not what grants me strength to press through the trials of life, affords me courage to love, empowers me to overcome.
That came in the days and years to follow, from the heart pounding rush of a midnight flight, to the constant clamor of the ill and hungry. It came in the scorn of betrayal, the agony of Gethsemane the mocking on the path to Golgotha. There were quiet moments, with hearts and belly's full. Wondrous moments of gratitude for healing. Reassuring moments when Father spoke from the heavens. I'm sure those moments were savored as only a Savior can.
So I savor this quiet, this silent night, and rejoice that morning and noise and commotion will come. "For God", on a sacred, still night and again equally on a cacophonous, tumultuous hill, "So loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son. That whoso believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life."
Christmas blessings to all of my beloved bloggy friends!