The mist settles over me as the light from the moon
illuminates tiny particles of water that glows around me. My body shakes,
partly from the chill, partly from the Holy Spirit wrapping me in its presence.
I am not here. In the present. I am there. In the past.
I see a woman in pain, overcoming fear as she pushes the baby out.
The baby, who is God. The child who came to the earth He created to hold us in
His arms. But for now, He is the one being held. He is the helpless one. And
the angels surround Him, holding back their intervention, yet praises are
proclaimed around Him. Glory to God in the Highest, Peace on earth.
I am not here. In the present. I am there. In the past.
My father, who did not know Jesus, dances in the presence of
what he calls the Christmas Spirit. The one and only time, besides his children’s
births that he felt as if all the world was well in his soul. The Holy Spirit
wraps my father in its presence and my father surrenders to it. To the peace,
the joy, the hope that made my dad the best version of himself, every December,
as he celebrated this feeling that he delighted in, Jesus, Immanuel. Even
though he did not know Him.
I am not here. In the present. I am there. In the past.
My mom is extra. Given over to the overwhelming notion that
she is saved by the child, who was born to deliver her from all that kept her
in bondage. She does the most. She ensures that nothing is left undone to give
us the best expression of herself and humanity. She fully embraces that best
version of herself, delighting in the wonder her children experience, for a
moment, a season, escaping the intense present sorrow of a failing marriage.
I am not here. In the present. I am there. In the past.
A home was given to us, homeless, without resources. Our
only hope, Jesus. Our constant joy, Jesus. Our constant peace, Jesus. December
15th, the day we moved into the home we dreamed of, that we prayed
for. Everything we desires was framed in the house we were given by our God. A
tree was put up, decorated and adorned at the reality that our God, our Jesus,
who we were celebrating... remember us and lavished us with His love for us. That was the year we felt
overwhelmed by his goodness, we had more gifts under the tree we could have
ever imagined with no money to our name. It was the year we celebrated alone,
just the 5 of us.
The fire warming us, the love surrounding us. The fog
settling on the central valley farm land around us, the moon glowing and
reflecting off the tiny water particles. Like a warm blanket and the rest of the
world disappeared as we snuggled in the blankets given to us, the 5 of us,
around the fire, thanking God for coming here to the broken world to know us.
To empathize with who we, His creation, experience.
And there, in the present and the past... the whole earth is engulfed in His presence and the world remembers the Saviour, who came to gave us the only gift that matters... LOVE
I am not here. In the present. I am there. In the past.
I see the angels rejoicing that God has come, Emmanuel. The Gift of Christmas.
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