I'm so honored to be over at the Glorious Table today.
But first, a bit of an update. As many of you know we have been awaiting our Christmas baby. Our little man arrived a bit early and in a hurry last Wednesday, December 7th. His name is Jude Christopher and he weighed in at 6lbs 10oz. Jude and I are doing well and we're all busy transitioning to a family of four as we go through the early haze of newborn days.
Blessings to you as we all continue to await our coming Jesus.
“Come, Thou long expected Jesus
Born to set Thy people free:
From our fears and sins release us,
Let us find our rest in Thee.”
– Charles Wesley
I tend to have big expectations.
I’ve spent the last thirty-three years learning how to temper those expectations with reality. This can be a beautiful piece of my personality, in that I am often considering how things could be better or recognizing the small tug on my heart—questioning if we’re missing something. Holidays are no different.
I have spent many a Christmas feeling a touch let down, a bit sad—sometimes heartbroken—for multiple reasons. There was the year I was nine. I wanted a new bike badly, but only my brother received one. I cried secretly. Later on, my mom held me, and I could see no one was trying to exclude me. I surely felt the heartbreak then, although for a superficial reason.
There were the years my parents fought constantly during the weeks leading up to Christmas, and the tension felt unbearable. I wished I could fix it for our family. I wanted desperately for peace to exist in our house, but it didn’t come–at least not real peace. Later, there were the Christmases after the divorce when it seemed we were all a bit numb, not quite sure what to do with our family in pieces.
Then there was the Christmas, during my freshman year in college, when I learned a dear friend from high school died in a car accident. The grief nearly split me. I spent Christmas day in shock, which later turned to anger.