I have two situations in my life that have been running rampant through my mind lately, one about which I harbor a great deal of anxiety, and another about which I still harbor a little anger and bitterness. I’ve tried to let these go, tried to give them up, but it doesn’t seem possible. To be honest, it’s not possible. Not in my own strength.
And it occurred to me the other day, that much as we do during Advent, I’m waiting on baby God.
I thought about the two holidays, so to speak, that Christians observe, and how we do so. Easter, deliverance made in a tearing of the veil. Christmas, deliverance promised in tiny, helpless form.
Deliverance is actualized on Easter. It has potential on Christmas.
But it occurred to me, also, that perhaps Christmas is a sign of more. Because on Christmas, God is no longer above us in the heavens, but He’s with us. And suddenly, deliverance from the burden shackled on us at the moment of the fall is no longer coming: it’s already here.
So this December, I want to explore the idea of what it means not only to celebrate this Christmas, with joy in our hearts and lights on the tree, but to observe it. To set it aside as the sacred meeting the mundane in the most impossible way we have and will ever see. To wait on baby God, to know that deliverance may yet be thirty-three years and a rough hewn cross away, but at the same time, it’s already here, lying in a pile of hay.
And I pray as you walk this December, whatever situations of anxiety and pain and anger you face this month, that He will show you the tiny form of mighty deliverance, that you will know deliverance is not only promised, not only coming.
But that it – that He – is already here, walking this road with you.
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