Christmas Eve

We’ll be celebrating today.  Yet, not as grand as we’ve once had.  It’s the second year that traditions of family, food, gifts, and games get traded in for smaller gatherings and absent members. Truth be told, the significance of this tradition had itself slumped one memorable Christmas, much like our gatherings these days.

I remember one year imparticular, the significance had just been about lost all together.  In the earliness of this one morning, I realized that not even a nativity was on display.  Wreaths were out. Stockings were hung. The tree was alit.  

This shouldn’t be.  

Was the reason for Christmas being lost on me?

Before any others that morning, it was early enough to look for the box that contained those ceramic pieces I had so carefully wrapped one by one for fear they would ever break.  My search found all pieces perfectly intact in a deep dark downstairs location.  I unwrapped each one individually.  There was Mary,  Joseph, baby Jesus in the manger, three wise men and assorted barn animals.  All there for no one to ever see.  I felt convicted. This was more Christmas than was upstairs. 

I took them up and placed them smack dab on the floor in the middle of our living room.  Center of attention.  Hoping somebody might even trip over them.  Notice them. I had just about lost what the center of this occasion was about.  Not intentionally.  It’s just that each year there was less room to fit the nativity and its pieces until it finally didn’t fit at all. 

My nativity is out every year since then. Those pieces remind me on Christmas Eve, that there was this momma still in her pregnancy on a day like today.   She would soon go into labor.  A natural birth. With stars in the sky,  no one would fit her in either. There was only a barn where cattle were lowing and a trough filled with hay.  It wasn’t until tomorrow where Jesus would there lay.  

Remembrance is important.

Merry Christmas to you!

Make Jesus the center of all that you do.

Luke 2

Still

I took a picture to remind me.  I framed it.  And captioned it.

Be still.

I even picked an anthem for this picture sung by Hillary Scott from Lady A.

Still

But, it’s dang hard.

Here we are at the end of 2021 and my shortened inhales have been no greater and no less than the reduced volume of my exhales. My dad has been practicing and measuring his breaths with a spirometer to prove he’s breathing sufficiently this year.  I question the sufficiency of my own.  It’s just that this year has brought a lot of waiting and with it, there are all these breaths of mine that are minimal and shallow.   I often was hard on my dad because of his shallow breathing.  I should have measured my own.

What a season of waiting 2021 has been.

And Waiting.

Waiting for a coveted appointment, Dad’s medical clearance, cardiac clearance, covid clearance and two surgical outcomes. Waiting for a natural birth, a baby’s healthy cry, a threatening winter’s drive home, a solitary but medically necessary return, and my daughter’s healing.  Waiting for an employment exam, interview, test results, and my son’s career confirmation.  Waiting for his first burning building.  Waiting for his next.  Waiting for a plane to land two men home.  Waiting for a mind to be restored.  Waiting for an effect the vaccine might have,  waiting for an effect of not having the vaccine, waiting for the end to a quarantine, waiting for another end.

And waiting right now.

Brief breaths.

I try to breathe with more intentional inhales and deliberate exhales, but it has come less natural these past 365 days.   And just when I feel its normalcy.  It gets held.  

A friend’s son’s lost life, another friend’s son, a friend’s husband, a friend’s mom, a mother’s daughter, and even when there is way too many people I know, I notice I’m doing it for those I don’t.

Still I wait, and yet what I can’t do, what I don’t do, is bring myself to wait STILL.

Just still.

At rest.

Unruffled.  Untroubled.  Unstirred.

I know better.  I know who’s God.  I know who’s not.

My picture is trying to remind me what I know.

“Yet, I still dare to hope when I remember the faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease.  Great is His faithfulness.  His mercies began afresh each morning.  I say to myself,  The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in Him.  The Lord is good to those who depend on Him, to those who search for Him.  So it is good to wait quietly.”

And be still.

Lamentations 3

Revive and Resurrect

Revive and Resurrect. That’s what I’m working on right now.

There’s a Christmas tree out back.

Just one.

I mean, I hope there’s still one. It could go at any minute.

I am trying to revive it. I planted three of these perennials a couple years ago. But, two of them got confused and lived their lives as annuals. Each one was planted in our backyard. One for every grandchild.

The idea was to begin a tradition of decorating a tree they could call their own about this time each year and watch it grow as they themselves grow.

We even got all fancy and staked markers with their name and date under each that mistakenly made it look more like something had already died there. This should have been my sign. And, sadly that has always been the unfortunate fate of my attempts at cultivating such plant varieties.

But this year, I’m holding out hope for this last Arborvitae. You can see fleshy foliage that’s powering through and appearing to resurrect with a life that thinks it has a fighting chance.

Winter’s coming. Put up your dukes, light weight!

You know, I don’t know who I think I am, but despite my evergreen tragedies, I still planted this little green seedling. It powered through one season of summer, so I’m a gonna keep my watchful eye and protective care through the winter month. I can’t say for sure, but I think it’s waiting for Christmas.

I’m waiting for Christmas, too.

The seed of a different kind was born on this day. That seed was a bit underestimated, as well. Still is, actually. But, a great discovery I’ve learned is less about trees and more about He who made these trees. That’s the seed of hope. That seed is our fighting chance. I know it’s not important who does the planting, or who does the watering, because truth is, it’s always going to be God that makes it grow.

It’s your only hope, little buddy. I hope my grandkids see that grow.

1 Corinthians 3:7

Luke 8:11

John 1:1