Christmas is hitting me deeper

God.

Infinite being that created all of humanity. Perfect, omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent.

Separate from us, those He loves.

When I think about being a follower of Christ, the resurrection of my Savior, Jesus, would seem to be to ultimate celebration of my faith, as it is when He conquered death. When His sacrifice gave us the opportunity to touch heaven, with a simple prayer.

But Christmas is hitting me in a place that is deeper than the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross.

I know the history, that the time of celebrating the birth of Christ is not in December and was partnered with pagan rituals to appease the Roman gods. I know that it has become a marketing event that has been replaced with Santa Clause and Winter Solstice.

But Christmas is hitting me deeper.

My heart was broken open this year. I saw my God in a way that I have never seen Him before.

God, like us, is spirit, soul, flesh. We were created in His image, and we are spirit, soul and flesh. God, had no understanding of what it was like to be human on earth, because He was only human in its perfected form, that way we were intended to be. He never walked in the sin that we lived in. His flesh never touched the wickedness we encounter daily. And even in His love for us, God never experience the temptation and assault of sin.

As I play Christmas songs that tell of the story of my Savior’s birth, while I decorate the tree with memories of our life, my heart is heavy and Christmas is hitting me deeper. Tears begin to well up and my heart and I want to celebrate the reality that my God loved me so much that He left holiness to sit in wickedness, to understand, to empathize with me, with you, with all of humanity.

Jesus, Immanuel, God with us. God with us! He came to be with us, to walk among us. But He didn’t come in glory, with angels hailing his arrival. He didn’t come with power and might to show His majesty. No, He came in the womb of a child, a young girl, who loved her God. He came by way of a young man who was to marry this young girl. People like you and me, afraid, uncertain, needing supernatural intervention to affirm the reality of the calling to carry God incarnate in her womb.

And so the angels came to confirm and affirm this miracle. And the earth knew He had come. As Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem to complete the census requirement, a star responded to the majestic King being born in the little city.

My God, my Savior, humbled himself, and was delivered the way we all are, a young girl pushing the baby out of her, water breaking, contractions overwhelming, and blood surrounding Him, as He made His way into the world, He created. His flesh, grown in the woman He created. His heart nurtured by the man He created. And this little family was established on this Holy Night and the whole earth celebrated the reality that HOPE had come. That PEACE responded to the cries of His people.

Christmas is hitting me deep this year.

As I begin to grasp more fully that love my God has for me. His arrival on this broken earth hailed a new beginning to time. He was the new wine that would establish a fulfillment of prophecy since the beginning of time. His arrival, was more than just God with us. It was God know us. It was God show us. God heal us. It was God deliver us. It was God loves us!

The Christmas carols echo in the background and my body responds in dance, with goosebumps, with tears as I fully immerse myself in the reality of my God, whose love is so deep He not only sacrificed His life as a remission of my sin, but he sacrificed His throne to touch us with tangible hands of flesh. To speak to us with audible words of life. To bring a shining light to a dark and weary world. 

Christmas is hitting me deeper.

The lights on my tree and the stockings hung, the presents under my tree, fade away in the shadow of the love of my Jesus. The nativities around my house give me a glimpse of that night. The night when the world rejoiced. When lowly shepherd and majestic wise men were equal. When woman and man were equal. When government and religion were overruled. And a baby changed the atmosphere of our existence. The baby, being nursed by a woman, He created. Fully human, yet embodied God. And yet He came, in the most helpless form, depending on broken humans to love and care for him, as He loves and cares for us.

It’s hitting me deep.

My Jesus, Immanuel.

Come let us adore Him...

Reflecting

The moon shines brightly over our world tonight. The silence deafens my ears. My skin begins to tighten as my body convulses in deep shivers and fog billows in the air from the shallow breathing escaping my chest. I don’t breath deep for fear the deep cold will ache my lungs. I pull the blanket tighter around my body and gaze at the moon incessantly. Clouds are dancing in the moonlight and comforting my soul. I am filled to the brim with contentment, but I am restless.

The clouds blur and I am in the memories of my mind. They transport me to that place that once existed, but is no more. I am 5 years old. I can see and smell the season. Sharp pine fills my nostrils and the cinnamon pinecones soothe the scents. There are gifts, wrapped in festive paper, reflecting the lights of the tree. The fire is crackling and raging fiercely, warming my little childhood home.

Mom and dad slowly make their way to the living room. Mom is huge, her stomach is protruding baby number 3 and is ready to have the baby any day now. I hope not today. I want to open gifts. My little brother waddles into the living room, carrying his blankie. The smell of coffee rises and dad brings a cup for each of them. He nods to show approval that we can open our gifts. I rush in trying to find my name and my brother’s name, and start making piles of wonder.

I cannot remember what I got that Christmas. I don’t recall what we did after or what we had for breakfast. I just remember the joy. The love we all shared as a family. The anticipation of a new sibling and the contentment that filled our home, if only for a moment. Three days later, mom had another child, a girl. I now had a sister and was delighted. I thought that a new sister would certainly ease the tension between my mom and dad, that they would find joy in her sweetness.

It did, for a short while, but it was not enough to ease the pain my parents were experiencing, it was not enough to hold our little family together. Six months after that Christmas, my dad left and my parents divorced. My sister never experienced a Christmas with her entire family. Her first Christmas was a broken one, with parents in two different homes. My brother was too young to remember Christmas as a family, and can only see the shadows that are left on photo paper.

I can hear the Christmas music playing in the background, and hold the happy memory tight in my hand. It is a gift, a treasure that I hold dear. My body starts to shiver. The clouds are moving rapidly and the moon’s glow covers my face. I breathe hard and see the white billow from my lips. My body is heavy from remembering. My mind is tired. I walk towards my front door and turn the knob to go inside. The glow of lights is bright in my little country house. The fragrance of Christmas is strong. I glance at all the nativity scenes around my house that were my mom’s. I see the Christmas books that my dad bought for me every year.

A smile creeps onto my face. I am here, that moment when you realize that you are the parent who makes the memories for your children. I am here, that moment when you realize you won’t have your children at home much longer, as they go off to college and get married. I am here, that moment when you are thankful for all you have in front of you.

The pain of brokenness from my childhood is but a distant memory, one that motivated me to establish a whole and healthy childhood for my own children. It was my resolve, my challenge, my hope. Together, my husband and I established a family that cherishes one another and others. It was hard, but well worth the work.

This year, my children each bought gifts for each other and us. It was the first time they had ever done that. It was a treat. To see each of them, delighted to share their love for each other by giving a gift. We had an extra son with us this year, as well. Adopted into our family, almost a year ago, when he had no place to go. He too, celebrated by giving each person a gift. The love and generosity that filled the atmosphere was enough for me this Christmas. It was the best gift of all.

At the end of the day, I peek out at the moon, the stars glowing brightly, the clouds drifting slowly. I take it in, the memory of today, Christmas 2015, and treasure it. I hold it close to my heart. Thankful for the time we have to celebrate our Savior, thankful for the gifts he gives to us. 

The shadow of Christmas

The shadow of Christmas hangs heavy in my home. The soft glow radiates beauty from the branches of the tree. Like a million stars in the heavens, the intensity of majestic glory shines from the tree. I see the tiny treasures hanging from the bows; each carrying a story of their past. It is a collection of my life, on this tree. Tiny footprints, turned ornament to capture a time gone by too fast. A snowman in a hot air balloon from my childhood tree, holds on to the legacy of a family broken early on. Intricately fashioned pieces from around the world, carefully brought to my home by my husband’s parents of places I may never go. The memorial ornament, carved in glass, of my mother’s birth and death. This year, 4 new ornaments became mine: A moose glass, a funny memory of my childhood of watching National Lampoons Christmas Vacation; a sparkling nativity scene, from Kemah, the place I was for my father’s memorial; a cowboy boot, that will become the memorial ornament for my father; and a carved nativity, simple and fascinating, adorning my tree with the true meaning of Christmas.

It glows in the darkness of my home. I feel its warmth in the very core of my soul. I breathe in the legacy of the tree. Many stories rise up about the tree on Christmas. Christians have scorned the presence of the tree as pagan. I cannot buy into such a fallacy, as the tree is but a creation of the living God and the ornaments a pop-up book of memories for my family. Christmas traditions and celebrations are but an adoration of the coming of the Savior; Emmanuel. In fact, advent is exactly that: the arrival of something important or awaited. Of course there are many pagan holidays and traditions that surround the Christmas season, but that is to be expected, since Satan himself has tried to destroy the very life of our Savior. The tradition is what is created in the heart of man, as a reflection of what is inside. If pride and selfishness is what motivates a tradition, then it can become pagan. However, if love and family and joy and remembrance of our Savior is at the heart of what motivates a tradition, it is hard pressed to call it pagan. So many traditions and celebrations were practiced by the Jews to remember something that the Lord did for them, so they would not forget. The Christmas tree, standing in my living room, is such a memorial. A reminder of times filled with love and family. A time when, even though brokenness ruled my childhood home, the tree brought us together with love and laughter, if only for a moment.

I am reminded of the time when we had no money to buy a tree. I had a 2 foot artificial tree in my collection of decorations and knew this would be all we would have. With three small children, my husband and I carefully crafted the story of our Savior around the humble little tree. Sharing the story of a king who was born in a barn, not a palace; and how we need to be thankful for what we have, no matter how little of a package it comes in. I had planned to have several home parties at my house to earn enough credits to get free things to give as gifts to my family. During one of those parties, a woman I had recently met, inquired of our tiny tree. I shared the story of Christmas and how we were thankful for even the humblest of trees. The next day, my doorbell rang. I opened the door to an intrusion of pine. In came the green beauty, propped up in the corner of my home, lingering a scent of Christmas wonder that was rooted in the heart of love. We decorated that tree with more delight than I we had ever experienced before. Lights adorned the branches, lighting up the bows of majestic splendor. Ornaments carefully placed, the topper given its place of honor on the highest point of the tree. It is only a tree, but it holds in its presence the exquisite grandeur of grace and love.

It is 3 days after Christmas, yet my heart is not ready to let it go. I am not ready to leave the celebration behind me. I want to rest in the legacy of this time of year. I want to relish in the sights and sounds the season has to offer. The house looks so full and stately with all the decorations around. The pine and lights and flowers and candles and nativities frame the walls of my house. Cards sent to me from family and friends are greeting cards of life that share a story of health and prosperity. I do not want to pack up my treasures hanging from the tree and take down the lights that gently glow in the night. I do not want to end the season that brings such joy to my depths. I look at the tree and wonder at its origin. The legends that surround its birth at Christmas are fascinating and intriguing:

 Legends of the Christmas Tree:

Many legends exist about the origin of the Christmas tree. One is the story of Saint Boniface, an English monk who organized the Christian Church in France and Germany. One day, as he traveled about, he came upon a group of pagans gathered around a great oak tree about to sacrifice a child to the god Thor. To stop the sacrifice and save the child's life Boniface felled the tree with one mighty blow of his fist. In its place grew a small fir tree. The saint told the pagan worshipers that the tiny fir was the Tree of Life and stood the eternal life of Christ.

Another legend holds that Martin Luther, a founder of the Protestant faith, was walking through the forest one Christmas Eve. As he walked he was awed by the beauty of millions of stars glimmering through the branches of the evergreen trees. So taken was he by this beautiful sight that he cut a small tree and took it home to his family. To recreate that same starlight beauty he saw in the wood, he placed candles on all its branches.

Yet another legend tells of a poor woodsman who long ago met a lost and hungry child on Christmas Eve. Though very poor himself, the woodsman gave the child food and shelter for the night. The woodsman woke the next morning to find a beautiful glittering tree outside his door. The hungry child was really the Christ Child in disguise. He created the tree to reward the good man for his charity.

 Each legend, capturing humility, love, beauty. A promise of what is to come.

 My tree stands majestically tall, touching the ceiling. It captures the memories of a time when we had nothing, when we had plenty. It tells the story of a family, building memories that shape the human spirit, and define a heart. With each passing year, my tree will be a symbol of hope and joy; a reminder of love and legacy. Something my children will pass on to their children. The light of day begins to break and the glow of my tree burns bright. It quietly sings a song and I hear it in my ear:

Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree!
Thy leaves are so unchanging
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Thy leaves are so unchanging

Not only green when summer's here,
But also when it's cold and drear.
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Thy leaves are so unchanging!

Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Such pleasure do you bring me!
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Such pleasure do you bring me!

For every year the Christmas tree,
Brings to us all both joy and glee.
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Such pleasure do you bring me!

Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
You'll never be unchanging!
A symbol of goodwill and love
You'll ever be unchanging

Each shining light
Each silver bell
No one alive spreads cheer so well

Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
You'll ever be unchanging