Immanuel Aftermath

Dear children,
Here it is, the day after Christmas. You three older girls are out and about with Daddy helping him at the farm, "helping" him cut wood, and I'm sure just generally trying his patience like any average 3, 5, and 7 year old would. In a good way, of course. He loves to take you into his life in this way. As you see a little bit now, and will come to learn even more, the out-of-doors is essential to your father's very being. He finds his peace there. He regroups and refreshes in the quiet of the forest and in the needs of the farm. And so he does his best to introduce you to this world, hoping and praying that he can plant seeds in you which will reflect his own appreciation for this most natural part of God's creation. And I hope he can do it too, because goodness knows this is not your momma's specialty. I will read to you outside in the sunshine until the cows come home, but when it comes to literally bringing the cows home, that is not my gift nor is it my passion. To your father's delight, we do already see some of this love for the simplest things rubbing off on you. For instance, Eliza, for Christmas this year you wrapped up some dried up chicken bones you found at the farm and oh-so-proudly gave them to me. I would be lying if I said it wasn't one of my favorite presents of the year, as the smile that accompanied it I intentionally recall daily, trying to burn it into the deepest recesses of my memory. It was a beauty. (Thank you again, sweet Liza, for the old, dried up, bleached-white chicken bones. It is my guess that you will never hear those words again in your lifetime.)
But as I sit here, reflecting on these last few days, I can't help but feel just a little bit unsettled. Everything went as smoothly as it could have gone. The juggling act of parties and church services, the buying and making of dish after dish of holiday food, the unpacking and repacking of diaper bags and backpacks, the finding room for new toys and trying to purge some old ones, all of it found it's proper place and stayed there, not spilling over into any category it wasn't supposed to. Logistically speaking, everything went flawlessly. Aunt Sarah even dressed up Jones like Santa and made it realistic looking enough that Cora bought into it and was nice to him for an hour or so. It was an easy, pleasant, laughter-filled holiday season.

However, I keep coming back to this question of, "Did I do enough?". Did I make this whole season, with it's ribbons and bows and cookies and family and Christmas carols, at the end of the day did I make it really matter?
The only thing I ever wanted these last few week to be about was Jesus. I had grand illusions of fireside chats talking about the very first Christmas and the coming of the King. I wanted to spend hours reading story after story about angels appearing, and shepherds quaking, and evil kings plotting, and the following of a star. I had visions of us imagining together what it would have been like to be there that day, experiencing first-hand the magic of the manger. But somehow, the days slipped by. It seemed that at some point every day I would be struck with words, blindsided while I was driving, or shopping, or doing laundry... words sent down from heaven just to remind me, to bring me back to center. Words like worship... honor... glory... and most often, Immanuel. Immanuel... God with us.... And I would refocus, knowing what, and Who it was that I wanted to bring into your days. But did I bring Him to you? Did I let you really feel what it means to have Him near? Did you ever get the chance to hear, in your heart of hearts, the holy newborn cry of the Christ-child? Or did I let it get overshadowed by the sounds of Christmas?
I tried last night to salvage the few remaining moments of our day by hosting an impromptu birthday party for Jesus. We read the Christmas story, we sang Happy Birthday to Jesus, we blew out candles on a chocolate cream pie (which I'm sure is what Jesus had at his birthday party. We try hard here to be authentic). Between dinnertime and the Grinch I tried to sneak just a little bit more of Jesus into your day. But while we were celebrating I was still feeling guilty, knowing that I could have done more. And it was then that I received one last, one very special Christmas gift. Dana, as we were singing Jesus his birthday song, you lifted up your little arms as high as you could into the air, looked straight into heaven, and sang directly to Him while smiling the brightest of smiles. And it was in that moment that I got it. And remembering it now I get it even more. It's not about me forcing Jesus into your days, or pushing Him into your life, or using my own strength to wrap His arms around you. It's about Him coming down and revealing Himself to you. It's about Him being with you. God with you. Immanuel.

So today I pray that I will let myself get out of your way so He can get into it. I will remember that it is not my job to save you, that this is the reason He came that precious day so long ago. I will do my best to point you in His direction. I promise to talk about Him, and show you Him, and let you see my love for Him.  And then I will trust in the deepest part of me that He will take you the rest of the way home. Merry Christmas, dear ones. May Christ be with you today and always. And may you get to know and fall madly in love with Immanuel.
Love,
Momma