Reflections of the Manger

Christmas has come and gone again, the echo of it found in the laughter of kids playing with new toys, and the softly falling snow which has blanketed the world a dreamy white. I spent the "season" typically, shopping, cooking, wrapping, preparing, searching. Trying to find time to spend with the sweet Savior whose birth we are all work so hard to celebrate.

I stayed up late many nights, Bible in my lap opened to the Christmas story, enjoying the glow of the tree, waiting to feel You, only to have my time interrupted by children who were supposed to be sleeping.

I got up early, bleary-eyed and unable to focus on the Bible in my lap opened to the Christmas story, enjoying the first rays of light of a new day, waiting to feel You, only to have my time interrupted by children who were woke up too soon.

I listened to Christmas cd's, enjoying the songs of tribute to a Babe in the manger, waiting to feel You, only to have my time interrupted by children who were supposed to be playing.

On Christmas Eve, we attended church as a family, with 1000 of my closest friends, watched an amazing performance to celebrate Your birth, waiting to feel You, and was interrupted by the thoughts of all I was supposed to be doing.

We came home, ate dinner, read stories of Twas the Night Before Christmas and In a Stable, and tucked some sleepy ones into bed. I sat in my spot in the hallway, reading Max Lucado's God Came Near, and waited to feel You. Certain the kids were asleep, I snuck downstairs to pray for a moment, in the silence of the evening, waiting to feel You, and heard the scramble of feet running down the stairs, wondering where I had gone. All I wanted to do was cry...I really needed to find my Jesus and have my time.

I came upstairs, set up the egg-carton foamy thing on the kid's floor, and snuggled between the two of them, waiting for them to fall asleep for real. In the silence of sleeping children, You came to find me.

Everytime I went looking for You, You came to me. But I didn't know what You looked like. You are three years old and needed a drink of water. You are six years old and like to get up early. You are eighteen and just need to know that you aren't alone. You are twenty-one years old and need to make sure that I know you've got it all figured out. You are almost twenty-three years old and are realizing that being a mom isn't easy at all. And sometimes, you are fifty, and just need to know that this is all for keeps.

You wanted to be with me so much, that You came to my world as a baby, to be part of a family, so we would never have to be apart again. Merry Christmas, Baby Jesus. You were right here all along.