Christmas season should be a time filled with long
reflection, considering all the workings of our coming Savior and the great
humility with which he entered the world. And if we still resided in Eden, I’m sure
this would be the case for most of us. But instead we live in a world where
December is unbelievably busy—there are parties to prepare for, family to
visit, presents to buy, and (of course) white peppermint mochas to drink (I
will find a way to mention this in every Christmas post…).
In honor of keeping this blog real and vulnerable
(because I’m anything but close to perfect), let me confess to you that when it
comes to communing with the Lord, I pretty much stunk at it this holiday. I don’t
really even know what occupied my time instead, but it found itself occupied
and God’s Word and prayer were not part of the equation. But this is not an
accusatory blog post against myself. It is one of grace. And so I give
you: yesterday’s journal entry… which
was written at a coffee shop after deciding to purchase a plain latte instead
of a white peppermint mocha (miiiiiiistake…)
December 27th,
Almost the entire month of December and no journal entry.
How many advent seasons do I have to waste? Probably not many… at least not in
the grand scheme of things. I feel so foolish, so childish for allowing my
heart to get sucked away by such worldly things during this month: greed,
appearances, acceptance from others, selfishness, control and perfection. What
could I have learned from Christ’s sweet humility? The King of Kings being born
in a barn, in a place where I find it necessary to wear boots that I can wash
and yet he wore swaddling clothes. December 27th is the date and my
open Bible finally finds its way to my lap. I feel like true God-fearing woman
would have cherished this lovely season, would have covered every inch of her
journal with prayers and petitions and thanksgiving and here I am, having an
affair with worldly things.
But I guess, a true God-fearing woman knows that there is
no journal entry big enough, no prayer long enough, no Bible read enough to
earn favor with God. And maybe that’s what I was supposed to learn this holiday
season. That Decembers aren’t given to me for my own benefit directly, but for
God’s glory. For him to be known and adored… because I am already infinitely
known and adored by him. No amount of quiet times will add to it. And that he
came to that manger as a child not to give Decembers a new meaning, but to give
all of life as we know it a new meaning.
He’s already done all that needs to be done. It is
finished. My life is won.
So Decembers spent abiding won’t give brownie points but
grace. Journals filled with prayers won’t raise my status—in fact, it should
lower it. Lord, I pray the more I commune with you, the more aware I’ll become
of all that you’ve already completed. Forgive me, Father, for my negligence and
lack of faith and my vast making of idols. And thank you—oh, thank you!—that my
position before you has not changed as a result. Thank you that I am still
cloaked in the righteousness of Christ, and although I’ll surely struggle for
the rest of my life to take it off and put on things that I myself have done,
remind me that the only gift I need this season is one I cannot buy. That you
loved the world so much, you gave us your son’s life.
Keep bringing me back to the infant in the barn, the
bleeding man in the garden, the dying Savior on the cross.
Merry (late) Christmas, sweet friends! You are covered in Christ's work and nothing will ever tear you from God's strong hand. :)
Agape,
CC
