Of Light

4 days until Christmas.

The kids' excitement is growing, of course, in anticipation of brightly wrapped packages and sweet treats and cousins. We've never really pushed the Santa thing, and although Judah and Selah seem to believe, logical Eden can't work her way through the Santa basics, as much as she'd like to. It's not always fun being a realist, I guess. We quietly talk to her about the tradition aspect, so at least she gets the thrill of being in on a grown-up secret if her incisive mind won't let her buy into a magic sleigh and flying reindeer. At this point, I'm just hoping we're all healthy enough to enjoy Christmas gatherings with our families. There seems to be so much sickness around, that even though we haven't battled much illness yet, it feels like we're all just sort of fighting something. 

We're staying home a lot, laying low.

I am not a homebody by nature. It is not cozy and luxurious for me to snuggle in and stay in jammies all day, because the reality of that scenario is four little needy bodies running around, banging into one another, always craving more more more snacks, games, meals, entertainment, food, attention, and snacks. We need outings, man. I like to have some sort of structure to hang the pieces of our day on. 

This is where I pull back to look at the big picture. Wednesday, after an evening spent in American retail hell trying to get the last of the Christmas shopping done, I realized that, for the first time EVER, I was sick of Christmas. Obviously, this pointed me to the wrong focus I'd allowed to direct my plans. I came home and took a shower at ten o'clock at night, the only time it worked to bathe myself the whole of the day, and as is often the case, I heard the whisper of the Holy Spirit in that margin time under the hot running water. (There's a reason I refer to my stall shower as the Prayer Closet.)

Lose the agenda. Seek my face.

The people who walk in darkness will see a great light. For those who live in a land of deep darkness, a light will shine.

I know that the timing of our "Christmas" goes back to pagan roots, efforts to interject the Christ-child into ancient solstice rituals in other places, other times. But the darkness of this season feels so prominent this year, and I feel it physically and psychologically. After another day of combatting the secular, materialistic "Christmas" and my own heart, and another night of being up and out of bed again and again with a not-sleeping babe,

THIS is the place I seek.

In the dark of the morning, before other voices crowd their way in.

All is calm, all is bright.

In the dark, I seek the Light. I can handle the dark because I trust the keeper of the dawn.