Determined Anticipation

For an entire four wonderful days last week, I savored coffee in the same house as my grown children. We spent the first two nights at my parent's home for the holiday, and then camped out in mine.  Their presence enriched me in a way few things do.

Nathan

Sam and Courtney

We didn't do much. But we didn't have to. Simply living with their heartbeats closer to mine sufficed.

(Cue a moan. My boys would NOT appreciate my sappy sentiment.)

But when the party ended and they went to their respective homes, I descended into what's called a mito crash, meaning a fatigue heavier then my down comforter landed me in bed.

Memories kept me company. And I accomplished a few things in between several two hour naps. But low clouds and thick raindrops have me longing for my covers again today.

So I'm sitting in a coffee shop, instead of my house, determined.

You see, due to the "done and over" fatigue I felt after the fervent, festive push, I considered taking my tree down early - like, before Valentine's Day. Which seemed a bit drastic.

Thus, instead of removing the "boughs of holly," I pondered the after effects of a longing fulfilled... like the feeling that settles in after we've eaten eggs benedict on Christmas morning and opened the presents purchased for months.

The rush over, the anticipation gone, a tiredness creeps in that frankly I find boring. The hype dies down and normal life lies ahead. And I wonder why my insides shift so quickly.

It's really not that hard to understand. Because Christmas requires a systematic approach.

I purchase small gifts throughout the fall. My tree goes up in mid-November to spread out the work load. Soon after, I fill my living room shelves with holiday décor and set out my favorite nativity sets with gentle care.

Normally the porch is decorated either right before or after Thanksgiving. But it took much longer this year. In fact, we didn't string lights outside until a week before the big day.

But we got it done thanks to the help of this sweet family. And then built a fire and watched a holiday movie outside on my lap top.

Makayla

Olivia and Carl

The next day, I baked cookies with mom and Courtney, and started wrapping gifts. And as the week progressed, I checked off a to-do list that, in time, allowed me to relax in the pew of two candlelight services since Nathan sang in one and mom's hand bell choir played in the other.

As each congregation stood to sing, O Come All Ye Faithful,
I fought tears like always, imagining an entire world of Jesus followers trekking to Bethlehem one more time, together.

And as I type, tears have started flowing again, surprising me.

But I love those moment.s I love when our candles are held high and we sing, Silent Night. And I love the feeling of peace that descends, reminding us that something much bigger is at stake than the daily drama we face.

A divine baby was born. God entered the world through Mary's womb. And the beauty of it all defies logic.

But it's 2017 already.

So what's up with me?

The sheer power of anticipation became more real to me this year. For six to eight weeks, I was driven by the excitement that leads to the night of wonder.

I shopped. I wrapped. And occasionally even joined in the food prep. 

And it was all for a grand party that ended somewhat abruptly, in the bleak midwinter, without colorful, shimmering lights.

But it also hit me that the whole point of living with determined anticipation is to ignite what we need for the long haul.

As December 25th approaches the bad fades, a calm pervades, and I actually believe, All Is Well.

The best of humanity ignites as we remember His birth. His coming. His entry into this world.

But He really is coming again. And I wonder what would it be like to live with a similar determined anticipation throughout the year.

It's hard to stay focused without a looming deadline. I know.

But it's out there. Somewhere. And living as if that day matters more than anything else will allow everything else to fall into place.

I want that perspective. I need that hope. The story isn't over.