God has not called me to be successful, He called me to be faithful.—Mother Teresa
If anybody understands, it would be Ruth. When her husband died, instead of returning home and starting again, she chose the harder path of traveling and taking care of her mother-in-law.
Amidst the twinkling lights, stocking stuffers, and your best-dressed outfits, it’s easy to forget why we actually celebrate Christmas. You get caught up in the giggle of your grandson, your stomach’s grumbling over that glazed ham, and it’s your responsibility to entertain the in-laws this year. The festivities are alive, and it’s no wonder the moments can all race together in one big blur!
Or you’re on the W-A-Y other end of the spectrum. You feel lost this season. That job you’ve been pining for? Given to someone else. That investment supposedly paving the way for an early retirement? Down the drain. Your boyfriend you envisioned your future with? No ring or explanation, gone. The minutes and traditions drag on, and nothing really seems worth celebrating this time around.
But no matter how far we’ve wandered or how lost we may feel, no matter how perfectly our ribbons are curled or our bows are placed, there’s a hope, so boundless and crazy, offered to every one of us. And it’s found in the meaning of Christmas. Relevant to the hipsters, the nonconformists, and everyone in between, it’s a story that beckons with a plot that revives and replenishes.
Jesus, the God of gushing love, came to this earth because we were wandering. We were lost. We were sinking in our defeat, error, and purposelessness. He saw our slumped shoulders and our worn out spirits. He heard our sighing and our groaning as we laid in our beds, the puddles of tears staining our pillows, waiting for some form of relief, some sort of hope, some sort of purpose.
And He came.
When you grow up in the church, you know at a young age that you’re a child of God just as easily as you know your full name and can recite your home phone number. But it wasn’t until I started having kids and becoming a parent myself that the relationship between God the Father and me as His daughter took on technicolor meaning. And now, this correlation is all I see in my everyday, parenting moments.
For instance, no matter how long I’ve been potty-training my three-year-old, he still has accidents. And in those moments when I’m looking at his sorry face and rummaging through the drawers looking for clean underwear (again), I think of how God shows us the right way to live in His Word, but time and time again, we have accidents. And yet, every time, how patient He is with us.
Or when Oscar says thank you when I give him a snack, I light up, and as a mom trying to teach my kids to mind their p’s and q’s, I’m so proud when he says that on his own. Which leads me to wonder how much more does our Heavenly Father’s heart soar when we acknowledge the gifts He’s given us and actually take the time to thank Him.