There's a similar feeling in those hours before dropping the girls off with their Dad. Stuffing in as much love and fun and happiness possible before they leave. Adding pressure and shame and anxiety and expectations into an experience, rarely results in anything other than chaos and tears. I am unlearning my propensity to act on these feelings rather than just acknowledging them. My intentions can be sincere, while my heart posture is out of balance.
For many years, I associated Christmas with performance, getting it right, providing and capturing the Christmas spirit. Then one Christmas I pushed myself to a breaking point. I allowed an incident, right before Christmas Day, a life changing, terrifying event, to be swept under the rug in the name of Christmas. "It was a shame this happened around the holidays", so I pretended that it didn't. Pride snuck in, making me believe my "resilience" is what fueled my strength. I had passed the test, I could conquer anything. Leading me to many holiday seasons where I manufactured the Christmas magic, or remained vigilant and on edge.
In 2018, I had reached my max capacity for creating Christmas bliss. It wasn't some Grinch filled episode of determination to ruin Christmas. I simply accepted reality regardless of the time of year. Christmas actually didn't need a bodyguard to ward off any threats of dismantling it. I allowed truth to be revealed and peace to come in an unexpected ways, rather than protecting my image and the image of Christmas. I was broken and weak. And in that, I realized my weakness was my strength.
Jesus arrived in the most vulnerable position possible...as a baby. He chose to enter into our heartache, our disappointment, our failure. This was mind blowing to me. I was too busy or flustered or scared to pay attention to this before. It was in my weakest moment of letting everything fall apart that clarity was revealed in Emmanuel. And that year, and every year since, Christmas has come to me, and I no longer had to produce it, bury my hurt to get to it, or succumb to the pressure.
The foreboding fog that loomed over me each season has been replaced with anticipation and wonder. I consider the 400 years of silence without a peep from God. I imagine it to be very ominous, going from keeping eyes and ears open for God's direction, to year 105 or 208. Every sound creating a chill or dread at what could be lurking in the cavern of God's silence. But then, Zechariah, receives a prophecy and Mary is told the impossible...there's a stirring, restlessness, anticipation...advent.
