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When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among others,
To make music in the heart - Howard Thurman
I’ve a lot on my mind lately, more than I can put to words. At the forefront of each and every thought is my general frustration with spiritual myopia. There are new questions the church is being faced with, questions for which we don’t have answers, questions which we must be careful in answering, questions that affect real people, and not just our theology. We must “Examine our ways and test them, and let us return to the Lord.” (Lamentations 3:40)
Sunday, as I walked into the bathroom to put on my makeup, where sat my son, trying his hardest to potty in the big boy potty. I walked in, smiled at him, and turned to the mirror to apply my makeup. Suddenly, his quiet voice sang out, “Mommy, you’re beautiful!”
I looked at him in stunned silence. Then suddenly, from the depths of my heart, welled up an unexplainable joy. My son, full of innocence, yet wiser than his mere 2 years would assume, without any prompting from anyone, burst forth with this nugget of truth. And in that moment, I heard the chorus of angels, and the voice of God, telling me again what he’d been telling me all these years, that I’d refused to believe. I am beautiful. For the moment, those simple words have burst forth in the forefront of my thoughts, and my days are empty of the anxiety and endless vanity they once held. I’m sure I’ll need reminding again… but for now….
I am beautiful.
As my family has been searching for ways to curb our holiday spending, we’ve come across some very creative ideas. I’ve been slaving over the sewing machine, and Forrest has hibernated in the basement in his studio creating collages. As I was up late last night putting the finishing touches on a project, I found myself wondering if the person for whom I was making the gift would appreciate the effort that went into it. I suppose I’m cynical because I’ve been on the receiving end of handmade gifts before, and I know what my attitude has been… come on, you know what I’m saying… you inwardly groan, force a smile and mumble your thanks. As I thought through this last night, I was struck with how horrible my attitude has been, and how I’d missed the true gift… the gift of time that the person had poured into their creation. I silently prayed a prayer for forgiveness for the selfishness that hides in my heart, and confessed my idolization of consumerism. My prayer today is that those who receive each of our handcrafted gifts, they will know the love that was poured into each and every gift… that they will know that for the duration of that project, every stitch, every detail… represents a thought and prayer for them, that they were lifted up before the Most High.
