Today is Christmas Eve. The day before we celebrate the birth of our Jesus, our Savior, our Redeemer.
Today is the day before the light shines on the hope and joy as we rejoice the birth of Christ.
Yet, what if the weary world was just weary. A world trying to rejoice, but their hallelujahs turn into muffled cries.
What do we do then? When we understand the sweat on Mary’s brow, the hurriedness of the shepherd boys to see with their own eyes truth in what the angels told them, the frustration of Joseph succumbing to the fact that his wife would give birth in a barn without any midwife or medical attention. What do we do when God tells us “Do not be afraid,” but fear and doubt seem to be the only rational piece of this whole puzzle?
How do we make Christmas feel like a birthday celebration instead of this longing inside of us to break the word down into two terms - more of Christ?
More of his peace.
More of his presence.
More of his comfort.
Remind me - what do we do then?
What do you do when Christmas doesn’t feel like Christmas?
When you feel wounded, sick, and sore.
When you feel broken, at a loss, and thirsty.
When you feel like you’re missing out on the happy kind of joy that you’re supposed to feel in this season.
I am not alone.
I won’t put on a face to hide my hurt.
I’m being real - for a real world in a real season.
Yet, I have to face each feeling with a plan. I want Christmas, I want it bad. I want the feelings that I've been preparing my heart for this December. I want the feelings of advent to rush in and fill my soul.
I will keep worshipping.
I will keep rereading Luke 1-2.
I will keep seeking out my Jesus - his peace, his presence, and his comfort.
I will keep facing my fears with God’s perfect love that casts out fear.
I will sing my broken hallelujah for my Jesus and God to hear.
And if no emotions change, if the joy doesn't come flowing in like a south Texas flash flood, if my heart still is longing - my God is still good.