‘Twas the night before advent and all through the house this momma went scrambling right up until midnight. Searching through sparkles and ribbon and her own heart and things – trying to find a way to make this Christmas about Jesus.
The tree had been chopped and only half the lights strung, as newspaper and garland dust began to litter everything. The little people nativity was found, set up, and fought over. And the boy who likes loud (only when it’s coming from himself) discovered the trumpet.
The husband lay snoring and sick on the couch, while children splashed bubbles right out of the tub. The bathroom became shiny while they had all the fun. Snarls were combed out, and at least some teeth were brushed. There were stories and dishes and snuggles and laundry. And clothes laid out nicely for church the next morning.
And just before eleven I cautiously tiptoed out from nestling with the littlest who couldn’t sleep from eyes all achy and goopy. And that’s when I remembered that advent was near; it would wake the next morning – it would soon be here!
So I shuffle about in search of random supplies that cause drawers to jam and husband eyebrows to rise. And the candles are all nubs, and we’re missing day thirteen. We don’t have enough clothespins, and it’s late, and I’m past being grumpy.
But I have in my heart to incorporate a beautiful tradition for each of the four Sundays preceding Christmas. To gather in the evening, light a candle, and read Scripture as we marvel at the God who formed the world, yet became formed in a womb – God became man, an infant born to die, so that He might save us.
As our children grow and as I grapple for something focused and peaceful here in the midst of much chaos, I long to make each day fixed on this precious, miraculous, truthful Story.
The next morning I wake with a sick little lady, and Advent comes dancing early in the memories of little minds. And the sweet advent tree we made for cousins last year teases me. But we’re still missing pieces, and it takes time to dry, and I’m already feeling way too frazzled and behind. But they only open one day at a time – so I cut up some Christmas scraps and draw a candle – a clue to the day’s significant impression. And twenty-four scraps of empty days are dropped in a bowl.
But maybe that’s it. That we need only just enough. That we move forward one scrap, one step, one moment, one day at a time, even when it’s all backwards. And I already know we won’t be making all twenty-four crafts, but we are beginning – focusing hearts on Jesus. And last night little eyes were aglow at the wonder of light coming to darkness.
And this momma’s heart, so full of darkness – fear and worry and anger and selfishness, was stilled by the light burning bright and constant from that stub of a candle, revealing the pain and darkness and brokenness of it all. Softly, without frilliness or frazzled, the deep dark filled by light – in this heart, this family, this world. So I light a candle, and scrawl out day two, and move on to cutting a tree from cardboard, the first day.
