It’s the wee hours of Christmas morning. The only other person awake is my mom, stuffing our enormous stockings to capacity, leaving the rest as a stack underneath. In our family, we DO stockings!
Once again, I find myself struggling to wrap my heart and mind around the reality of Christmas. I don’t want to walk away from another season with nothing more than warm feelings and a pile of loot. I want the truth of it to sink deep in my soul and change me.
So I ask myself today, “what does Christmas mean for me?”
This is my answer:
Christmas means I have life. Not just eternal life but abundant life here, now, life with meaning and purpose. It means having a Savior, a rescuer, not just for eternity but for all those moments when I flounder on my own. It means I have a shepherd, a comforter, one who is compassionate on me in my weakness and need. It means, in fact, that I am no longer alone. I have one who sees me, knows me, wants me, holds me fast. I have one who was willing to be limited, weak, helpless, affected, vulnerable, poor, tired, misunderstood, hated and killed for love of me. When it says in Isaiah that He will “open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison, and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness” – I was the blind, the captive, sitting in darkness. Christmas means light, freedom, a way out. All of this on his initiative, moving toward me out of love. When I look at this Jesus, I see the face of God. He is personal. He is good. He is zealous for me. For you. For us.
The weary world rejoices.