Beneath the clamor of the season, I hear the faint cries in
the quiet. Above the noise of the
hustle, I sense a new stillness beckoning in the night. While I hurry and plan, do and make,
the truth of God so loving this world lies swaddled in a blanket, waiting. I hear the cries and I sense the
stillness. I desire the awe and I
crave the wonder. But my lists are
long, and my calendar full, and my own blanket of holiday drapes over the truth
of advent, muddling the gentle cries of invitation.
I work to create traditions and memories, recipes and
beauty, when all the while, Beauty rests in the dark of night calling me to
come and adore. My eyes are fixed
on my family, these children for whom I long to know of God, and all the while,
God waits in a manger. I need only
to bring them with me to come and kneel.
But I want it wrapped in color.
I want it to smell freshly baked.
And over all of it, I want the shiny glitter of perfection.
But it has never been my job to create perfect. For Perfect has already come. Perfect
calls in the quiet coos of a Father become Child. Perfect waits for me to stop running, and to start crawling,
slowly and steadily by the side of Love, to come and behold.
Yes, I hear it, the gentle cries, the soft coos, the quiet
invitation to come and adore. Yes,
I see it, the light in the night, the star in the sky, the flesh of the
Love. But will I come? As I rise in the morning and fall in
the night, will I come? In spite
of the noise and the activity, the calendar and the lists, will I come? Will I come to kneel, come to be
stilled, come to behold?
