On Christmas Eve.
In our home.
Together.
For the last six years, holiday retail hours ruled his December.
But not this year.
Not today.
And the change is sweet.
He's napping beside me as I type, filled with the Eggs Benedict we ate on Christmas plates.
In a few hours we will drive to my parents church, First Presbyterian Church in Douglasville, GA, to enjoy my favorite Christmas Eve service. My mom's hand bell choir will play. An old friend from high school will blow the trumpet. And my oldest, Nathan, will even join their choir. I'll sing whatever descant comes to mind as timpani drums reverberate with strength and the organ summons us to rejoice.
We will celebrate the King of Kings.
The baby born in a manger.
Emmanuel, God with us.
The light of the world.
I've walked without a cane for twelve days now. Even on a country road. Holding hands with my spouse. I've laid in an MRI machine not certain what it would expose about my right wrist joint. I've listened as doctors explained no surgery seems necessary at this time and as my friend Debbie shared she's ready to stop chemo and put her stage four cancer in God's hands.
I watched my son commit his life to another. And days later ran into old friends in the back corner of the underwear section only to learn another friend just lost her spouse. Suddenly. Days before Christmas.
And I sit in the silence now, relishing a peaceful Christmas Eve, aware that we pause to rise above the good and the bad that make this world what it is. Because Jesus came from another place. Another time. And he came to beckon us to join Him. To embark on the mystery that started with Mary, Joseph, angels, shepherds, wise men...
And the baby.
For the divine entered the dirty and made beauty out of the mess.
Your heart my be heavy. Your heart may be at peace. It doesn't matter. Today we remember that he came with the most upside down entrance a king could make. And changed the world forever.
When I left the doc office two weeks ago after hearing, "We'll let you know if you need surgery next week," a knot formed in my stomach.
Not more surgery, God. Please, no. Not my hand.
I knew only time would bring an answer. So I turned up the volume on the CD in my car and played this song till it drowned out the worry.
I think it's pretty close to what the angels sang.
And even now, we can celebrate with them, the heavenly hosts who got it. The ones who burst forth in song on the Day of His birth.
Light in the dark.
The divine in the dirty.
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