Once-Perfect-Now-Broken

We found the perfect tree this year. That is, until a toddler came along and made a poor choice, a door fell, a crash was heard, and the tree was found laying discombobulated on the floor. The tree wasn’t the only one left discombobulated.

Branches bent, gaping holes, broken ornaments, lights falling off. A weary momma slightly devastated over our once-perfect-now-broken tree. A perfect picture of my Creator, looking down on His once-perfect-now-broken people, with whom He had a once-perfect-now-broken relationship. Devastated–His heart aching for what once was; what had to be again, what He was determined to make right again, by sending His own Son to make a way for redemption. He set the stage in a humble, filthy stable.

He sent His perfect Son into an imperfect scene to make the perfect–the only–way back to Him.

A Bond Of Two Souls

There is nothing so wonderful as holding an infant at Christmas time. My infant boy. Only now do I understand Mary; only now do I know her as a mother.

Something hit me the other day. Something so obvious, yet to me it came as epiphany. Mary nursed Jesus. She nursed Him, the Savior of the world! This sacred miracle of an act. Practical in nourishment of body, miracle in bond of two souls. She nourished Him, Liberator of the world come in baby form. She held Him near and felt Him suckle. King of the world, there at creation, fell soundly asleep within her arms, belly full and close to His momma.

“…a woman in the crowd raised her voice and said to him, ‘blessed is the womb that bore you, and the breasts at which you nursed!” Luke 11:27

Mary’s young body–younger than my own–now graced by stretch marks. Those scars her own, now foreshadowing the scars her newborn would one day wear. Scars of hands pierced through. Her son’s hands. Those tiny hands now grasping her finger, playing with her hair. Those tiny hands soon–too soon yet in perfect timing–to be bloodied.

His wide, deep brown eyes–peering deeply into hers; gaze broken only by restful newborn sleep, or to catch a glimpse of Christmas wonder painted across the dark night sky. Staring mesmerized at lights aglow. As the baby Jesus laid in His mother’s arms, nuzzling close for warmth and listening to the beat of her heart, He stared up–mesmerized not by twinkling LED displays, but instead the display of His Father’s creation–the glorious stars in the heavens.

Let’s Keep Christmas Simple

I came into this Christmas season amiss. I had big plans for making big plans. I would script out a month full of Christmas activity–events, parties, and seeing the lights. Zeke is two, and there’s a good chance he’ll remember this year. It will at least begin to shape his idea of Christmas.

And so I had to create memories; this is what I kept telling myself. But then I realized that it’s not my job right now to create memories, not exactly. Instead I am called to conjuring up memories; those of the first Christmas– that humble, imperfect, unspectacular, ragtag, glorious Christmas

And so this Christmas season instead of trying to create the perfect Christmas by making an appearance at each Christmas event, and touring the lavishly abundant Christmas displays, we’ll stay home. We’ll create the perfect Christmas by celebrating it in its simplicity. Our decorations will be Christmas books and cookies; a homemade wood-carved nativity set from Grandma.

And a once-perfect-now-broken, crooked tree, adorned by ornaments of our own childhood. The top branch will not be home to a shining star or angel, but a plastic bear blowing bubbles, bubbles I myself chased as a child, creating wonder now in my own child’s heart.

We’ll hang a few lights, only to fill our boys’ eyes with wonder. A few gifts will sit under the tree–and because only a few, much thought put into each one.

We’ll teach how to make cut-out cookies, play with trains, create a car out of a cardboard box. We will play on the floor. As our boys nuzzle close, we’ll read to them of another baby boy nuzzled close to His momma inside of a humble manger.

Yes, we’ll choose a few things to see, but only a choice few, and only if they won’t cause tantrums and holiday stress. Mostly we’ll stay home. In our “imperfect” Christmas setting, we’ll find the perfect Christmas by turning our eyes to the manger. To that baby. Perfect baby nuzzled close to imperfect mother.

The perfect Christmas is that Christmas which points our eyes, our hearts, back to the first Christmas, perfect in its imperfection.

Thank you oh-so-much to another blogger who wrote a blog post which inspired our simple Christmas season. Seriously–read this good stuff.