This blur of days between Thanksgiving and Christmas can become pure chaos, an overload of events, shopping, preparations... lists of lists. Somewhere lost in the noise is a Savior... waiting for me... for you... as quietly as He rested that night in a simple feed trough beneath a stable roof.
I let the distractions fall away. I look into rosy-faced boys upon dreams drifting. I draw covers close... and dream. Big. I wash squirming little fingers smeared with paint from popsicle-stick ornaments strewn across counter tops splattered. I draw out my own brush, dipped in red. I hold the bowl fast as small hands stir dough stiff. Mine will be a gingerbread man with red and green sugar crystals. I hear carols being sung in silly boy-verse. I add my own chorus, off-key. We laugh. We laugh. Until we can't breathe. But we can. Letting it all fall away, means we can breathe. And there is joy.
Joy. At the manger. In the quiet. As we walk. Heart spills. Unconditional love... love beyond my understanding... love beyond even the knowing corners my mama heart.
My Christmas list. Humility that I might be an empty vessel... ready to be used. Wisdom that I might journey as I learn and learn as I journey... with but one Compass. And Joy. Joy that I might let the chaff sift away... useless bits in the wind. Joy that I might let the noise of world, of self, grow still... lest I miss the song of angels in the air. "Behold!" There is great joy.
I bend low and thank a Baby tender... a Savior all-powerful.
Joy spills in teardrops.
Will you bow with me? Knees on hay? Joy in my heart and yours?
All else falls away.
Would you celebrate the Gift of Joy with me today at the Homeschool Village?