I am sitting here at one minute before midnight while Dennis finishes wrapping the last present we will take to my hometown tomorrow. There is much to do before we leave and we are both tired.
It has been a busy day. We met with our orthopedic surgeon today to check on the progress of our bones, and though they are healing well, the prognosis for the next few months involves more therapy, a possible surgery, many more bills and most of all, uncertainty. I found myself responding in frustration, worry and anxiety.
When we returned home this evening, I worked hard on the Christmas eve candlelight service. I put the service together using many of the words of John Bell and the Wild Goose Worship Group that I found in Cloth for the Cradle. In the midst of the preparation, I grumbled and glowered, feeling weary and inept. I was creating a cloud of darkness to hover over me. And how sorry I felt for myself!
But then I found myself reading again and again the words, "the world was not ready..."
"For He came to his own and his own did not know him."
Born in a cattle stall among dirt and grime and animal droppings. We made no room for him. No, we were not ready to receive him.
And yet, still, He came.
Oh, how I wish that I was one who prepared my heart as well as I have prepared my house to celebrate Christ's birth. But the fact is that I haven't. There's fear and worry and darkness and doubt dwelling there. My heart is not ready to receive him. There is no room at this inn.
And yet, still, He will come. He will come into what little space there is for him amidst cobwebs and dirt, smell and stench... he will come. He will come into my heart as He came into the world. Perhaps unnoticed. Perhaps unwanted. Perhaps uninvited. But He will come.
And I pray that what He finds here will be enough -- that just as the dank darkness of the stable could not hide the Glory within, the veil on my heart will not shadow the Light that has come to dwell among us and within me. For though I am not ready to receive him, I need Him deeply.
Even so, Lord Jesus, quickly come.
It has been a busy day. We met with our orthopedic surgeon today to check on the progress of our bones, and though they are healing well, the prognosis for the next few months involves more therapy, a possible surgery, many more bills and most of all, uncertainty. I found myself responding in frustration, worry and anxiety.
When we returned home this evening, I worked hard on the Christmas eve candlelight service. I put the service together using many of the words of John Bell and the Wild Goose Worship Group that I found in Cloth for the Cradle. In the midst of the preparation, I grumbled and glowered, feeling weary and inept. I was creating a cloud of darkness to hover over me. And how sorry I felt for myself!
But then I found myself reading again and again the words, "the world was not ready..."
"For He came to his own and his own did not know him."
Born in a cattle stall among dirt and grime and animal droppings. We made no room for him. No, we were not ready to receive him.
And yet, still, He came.
Oh, how I wish that I was one who prepared my heart as well as I have prepared my house to celebrate Christ's birth. But the fact is that I haven't. There's fear and worry and darkness and doubt dwelling there. My heart is not ready to receive him. There is no room at this inn.
And yet, still, He will come. He will come into what little space there is for him amidst cobwebs and dirt, smell and stench... he will come. He will come into my heart as He came into the world. Perhaps unnoticed. Perhaps unwanted. Perhaps uninvited. But He will come.
And I pray that what He finds here will be enough -- that just as the dank darkness of the stable could not hide the Glory within, the veil on my heart will not shadow the Light that has come to dwell among us and within me. For though I am not ready to receive him, I need Him deeply.
Even so, Lord Jesus, quickly come.
