Have you ever had a moment where you reflect on your life and think of how many times the Lord provided and protected, his providential hand on moments of significance? During advent I always remember the longing to have a child and also how that dream came to fruition. I remember holding both babies in my arms as Christmas season arrived first one year and then in the next. In those newborn days during back to back Christmases I walked the hallways at night, light flooding through the windows from the incandescent vintage bulbs my husband is so fond of. I rocked and sang and bounced. I remember whispering Christmas lullabies as they gently drifted to sleep. I remember staying up into the wee hours and hearing our Christmas lights click off while I tried to work in the last feeding of the night. I cherish the memories of holding and covering them at Christmas Eve service, anxiously hoping they wouldn’t cry out during the quiet parts. Now a couple of Christmases later I have little people who can tell me what they’d like for Christmas. We talk about Jesus, our Rescuer, born and laid in a manger, the King of the world. They ask questions like, “where are the wise men in that picture?” and “how is a baby born?” Hmmm.
At the same time I see their names embroidered on stockings (that we may actually fill this year because they are beginning to understand how this Christmas thing works), I see them as babies under the tree, sleeping through Christmas festivities. I cannot begin to express how overwhelmed I am by the gifts that they represent in just being here. I tell them each day how happy I am that they’re in our family. This usually happens right before bed because so much of the time they are awake, I am thinking of what needs to be done to keep us on our schedule, or what fun activity will capture their interest.
I’m weighing the discipline of the moment. I don’t really live in the gratitude of it all. But at night, when it’s quiet, or in the odd moment they’re both napping, I see it. I see the gift. I see it through the mini dump truck tucked in the basket next to my book. I hear it in the utter absence of noise, I feel it in the warmth of laundry I fold. I sense it in the way that my heart yearns for love to cover a multitude of the ways I’ve gotten it wrong today.
If I’m honest, I don’t always turn to God in those moments, but on occasion I do. Today I thank him for the gifts. I thank him for coming as a tiny baby to a poor family, excluded and whispered about in scandal. I thank him that after his glory left the temple all those years before, it came back to shepherds in a field. It came back so that we all might have hope. I thank him for his mercy that in these quiet moments, tucked away in the busyness of the season, I have hope. We all have hope for change, for peace, for rest from striving and worry. The Savior of the World came as the Rescuer for all people. I pray that I might play a small part in conveying that message. Lord, may we marvel and wonder at the glory that settled on the temple for the Israelites—the same glory that appeared to the shepherds is available to us. We must simply trust you.