I have a list I am trying to complete before we
head out to Colorado.
1. Organize the basket on top of the fridge.
2. Paint the kitchen chairs.
3. Finish two more chapters in the upcoming book.
4. Clean the house.
Let me give you a run down of where we are with the list.
Nowhere. Nada. Zilch. Zippo. Not one thing done.
It's more like semi-controlled pandemonium here.
But instead of pulling all my hair out, I am going to breathe deep.
And settle myself with the fact
that I am keeping the tradition of what Christmas was like that first night.
I bet Mary had a list.
1. Clean the donkey
2. Gather food for the journey
3. Make reservations with an inn in Bethlehem
4. Don't forget the swaddling clothes
5. Bring extra blankets - just in case
And then there was the reality of the night.
A packed city brimming with people.
An aching back and belly trying to adjust to the donkey's unwieldy gate.
A frantic search for a place to rest.
The mess of the stable.
Birth pains growing strong and steady.
And there in the midst of the cacophony of a middle eastern barn,
the hope of the world was born.
Small. Perfect. With reddened skin and peach fuzz for hair.
Drawing a deep breath and with a newborn squall,
heralding the arrival of God come to Earth.
Coming in the wildest of times,
to a struggling nation and an unstable world,
to bring peace on earth and goodwill toward men.
He came with a list engraved on his heart.
His purpose was woven into his DNA.
1. Seek and save the lost
And all these long Christmases since that first chaotic night,
he is still doing that.
One soul at a time. Coming into our mess.
Beckoning us with his love. Enfolding us in his grace.
Righting our crookedness with his truth.
And on this Christmas Eve, 2000 years later,
I am thankful that Emmanuel, God with is, is still working on his list.