Why Christmas isn't primarily about giving …
… it’s about adoring.
“There is a beautiful story recounted every Christmas in the forests of the Provence of southern France. It’s about the four shepherds who came to Bethlehem to see the child. One brought eggs, another bread and cheese, the third brought wine. And the fourth brought nothing at all. Peoole called him L’Enchante.
The first three shepherds chatted with Mary and Joseph, commenting on how well Mary looked, how cozy was the cave and how handsomely Joseph had appointed it, what a beautiful starlit night it was. They congratulated the proud parents, presented them with their gifts and assured them that if they needed anything else, they had only to ask.
Finally someone asked, “Where is L’Enchante?” They searched high and low, up and down, inside and out. Finally someone peeked through the blanket hung against the draft, into the creche. There, kneeling at the crib, was L’Enchante – the Enchanted One. Like a flag or a flame taking the direction of the wind, he had taken the direction of love. Through the entire night, he stayed in adoration, whispering, “Jesu, Jesu, Jesus – Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”
… The Enchanted One is laid waste by one pure passion. His single-mindedness leads him to a realistic assessment: anything connected with Christmas that is not centered in Christ – tree, ornaments, turkey dinner, exchange of gifts, worship itself – is empty gesturing. Bless are the shipwrecked, for they see God in all the trappings of Christmas and experience a joy that the world does not understand.”
From Brennan Manning, in Watch For The Light, read to us at breakfast by my dear momma-in-law.
Oh come let us adore Him. {Thanks for reading.}
How Joy Comes To Your World
As most of you know, couple months ago we sold our dream house and down-sized into a rental. We lost a lot of money, I guess you’d say.
We lost about 1,000 square feet. Lost that big soak tub. Lost my walk-in closet. Lost our garage. Lost our double-sinks. I guess we lost the tax deduction for mortgage interest too. Now that I think about it, I guess we lost a lot.
Maybe that’s why I feel so much lighter. Why I feel so free. … {the rest over at (in)courage … thanks for reading!}
What Mary didn't do.
{Continuing our look at four beautiful things about Mary …}
:: Mary was calm, cool, and collected.
Do you remember being 13? I remember experiencing a common teen-girl behavior: freaking out. I believe all teen girls do this often — triggered by any variety of things ranging from a zit to a stolen boyfriend. Chalk it up tor hormones or whatever you like, but freaking out is the norm at 13. (Or 30 for some … but that’s another issue.)
Not for Mary. If anyone had cause to freak out it was her. She is nine months pregnant with the Son of God, still enduring ridicule from all sides, but probably holed up her in her home nesting like crazy, getting the nursery ready and having everything prepared. We who have had babies know that crazy-nesting period when we can’t shampoo the carpets enough times and can’t make enough gallons of soup to freeze before baby’s arrival. We’re nuts, all of us.
But just as she’s about to bring baby boy into the world, all the plans change:
Road trip.
And not just any road trip: a donkey-riding roadtrip of almost 100 miles. Oh for the love! Can you imagine? I could hardly walk up the stairs at 9 months pregnant, and this little waif of a thing was trotting across Israel about ready to burst. This girl is amazing.
But that’s not it. Sure, she’s thinking, surely there will be a nice hotel waiting for us when we get there. One of those special doula birthing suites with a Jacuzzi tub. Nope. No room.
How about a barn?
I’m sorry, ladies, but can you stinkin’ imagine this??!! We think that the childbirth nightmare is not making it to the hospital in time and giving birth in the car. No … this is the childbirth nightmare. leaning against a hay bale while pushing out your baby, then lying him in a feed trough for his first night of sleep. Good grief.
This was God’s plan. Would Mary freak out?
No. She was calm, cool, and collected. No epidural. No Jacuzzi tub. No nothing. Every plan changed. Nothing was as she expected. There may have been tears, I can only imagine she was humanly hormonal, but her cries weren’t loud enough to make it onto the page.
She must have wept quietly. She must have talked to herself instead of listening to herself. Must have chosen to submit her emotions to the rule of Christ — who she held in her arms.
She was the first to bow the knee. The first to submit to His plan. And the result was a calm, cool, collected first-time mother who cradled the glory of God in her very arms. Why? She knew her God.When all is out of control, nothing is out of His control.
Do we remember this when all is spinning out of control? Nothing is out of His control.
:: Mary kept confidence. Besides freaking out, the other behavior commonly known to teen girls is called “blabbermouth syndrome.” Yes, that is, there is no gate on that beautiful mouth and so everything comes out. Again, some girls never outgrow this … but that’s another topic.
While Mary was entrusted with the Savior, she was also entrusted with a Secret. As God gradually revealed the magnificent truth about this God-child, she was given a first-hand glimpse of the miraculous Rescue Mission her very Son would spearhead.
Would she tweet it? Blog about it? Put it all over Facebook?
Could she be entrusted to keep quiet? To hold the truth in confidence, knowing that God would unfold His plan at the appropriate time? She did. When the shepherds shared with Mary the amazing news that had been told them by the heavenly host, what did she do?
“But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.” (2:19)
Where did she treasure them and ponder them? In the quiet of her own heart. And then, as Jesus grew and revealed in His own words more about His mission, that He must be in His father’s house, once again,
“she treasured up all these things in her heart” (2:51)
God’s glorious gospel-plan depended on the discretion of a teenage girl. It wasn’t time to blab about her boy.
Mary wasn’t called to be a prophet, just a mom.
Would she quietly be faithful to her task? She was. And in God’s beautiful time, the Rescue Mission unfolded, the glorious love story of a Groom seeking a Bride.
Here’s the cool thing for us: We will never be called on to give birth to the Son of God (that seat’s taken!) but we will all be called on for some mission of God. We each have a unique calling on our lives. Will we follow through? Is God’s glory safe with us?
Will we be courageous when everything is scary? Will we stand in confidence with our future looks unsure. Will we stay calm, cool, and collected even when everything’s spinning out of control? And will we keep confidence, showing discretion at the appropriate times. The qualities that Mary needed for her mission are the same qualities we need for whatever mission God has for us.
And He does have a mission for us. He has good works, prepared in advance for us (Eph 2:10). How will we respond? I’m grateful for a girl named Mary who quietly, simply, humbly submitted her will to God’s and let Him write her into His story. I pray the same for us…
Thanks for reading.
My own Christmas boy.
“When are you due?
“Christmas Day.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
—
That’s how almost every conversation would go. When someone heard I was due Christmas day they inevitable said how sorry they were for me. Then, usually a story would come, about their cousin Jake or Aunt Martha who had a Christmas birthday and hated it. They’d finish by giving me tips on how to make sure all the presents didn’t get blurred together. (By all means use different kinds of wrapping paper!) I usually waited quietly until they were done then simply responded, “I’m actually glad I have that due date.”
And it’s true. I was glad. And, I’ll admit, I prayed that God would let Dutch be born on December 21st so that I’d have a day or two at home before my whole family came over for Christmas. On the 19th my doctor checked me: “No progress at all. This baby isn’t coming anytime soon.” The 20th my water broke, and sure enough, on December 21st we welcomed Dutch William Patterson into our world.
We’ve never been the same since.
The weeks of Advent 2006 broke me in two. I’d never before identified so much with Mary. With the emotions, the waiting, the anticipation, the tears. Even though my soon-born son was not the Son of God, I still had a strong sense that my Christmas son was special, destined, called for something great.
I still believe he is.
He came on the very day I’d asked my gracious Father for. He came with a spirit stronger than any I’d ever known — certainly stronger than my own. He broke me, brought me to my knees, made me weep and made me melt. And strangely, the nearness of his birthday to Christ’s only reminds me, every single year, of the nearness of my boy to the Father’s Heart.
I know He has plans for my son.
Every mother knows this, does she not? As Mary pondered the angel’s words and treasured them in her heart, so every mother sees glimpses of and hears from God the destiny on her child’s life, and she believes God for that destiny. Trains Him for that destiny. Pours out her soul, her life, so that that child will be raised as an arrow in the hands of our God.
Isn’t that what mothering is?
I have never cried over any boy as much as I’ve cried over Dutch. God has used this man-child to expose my areas of weakness, of insecurity, of people-pleasing. He’s toughened me, strengthened me, pounded into my mind and heart what must be done to love, train, and disciple this boy. He’s sharp and he’s strong — an arrow that must be pointed in the right direction.
{And today, Dutch, on your 5th birthday, I want to celebrate how I already see you growing into the man-child God wants you to be. I see how you yield, how you give to your sister, how you’re sensitive to the things of God, how you think, question, wonder. I see how you intentionally skip over the “yucky” pages in your Star Wars book. I see how you told me we shouldn’t watch a certain kids’ movie anymore because it had magic and spells in it. I see tremendous evidence of the work of the Spirit in your life, my son, and it makes my heart soar.
I see how you’re brave, and I also see how you’re tender, I see how you wobble-walk, wanting to be a courageous man (a Jedi Master!) but also wanting me to snuggle you under the covers when you’re cold. I see you slaying storm-troopers but wanting me, sometimes, to carry you up the stairs.
That’s just right. I think you’re right on track.
I’m so glad you were born near Christmas. There will always be something special about your birth … and about you.}
I cannot imagine all that Mary felt. But I know what it’s like to swell in late December and birth with tears of joy. What it’s like to wonder a little at the special creation that lies in our arms and weep, knowing there’s a weightiness about our boy.
We all who raise a child know this, yes? Bless you, fellow-parent, who cry with the joy-sorrow of raising a man or woman of God. I pray for strength for us all to persevere! And how great is the gift of grace that was given to us in the birth of that baby boy — Jesus Christ, Emmanuel …
God with us.
{Happy birthday, Dutch. And thank you all for reading.}
(A few pics for family reminiscing…)
