Monday, 7 November 2011
Darkness shot through with light
It’s Christmas morning. The gifts are open, the drum set assembled, the new riding toys getting broken in, the volume level in our home at a new level. Snow is gently falling on a fresh three inches from last night, and it looks like perfect sledding weather today.
We’re happy. And yet tears keep gathering at the corners of my eyes.
Is it because our family is complete, that Josie is home for her first Christmas?
Is it because I can still see my dad reading the Christmas story in his glasses and sweater, and even after nearly 13 years I miss him desperately?
Is it because I can see something align and click in my son when he’s playing his new drums, so the extra noise is more than worth it?
Is it because my kids all seem secure and content in our home, in our family, and they know they are loved?
Is it because family is beautiful and sacred, but also messy and exhausting?
Is it because of the reality of today, of Word made flesh, that Love had to find a way to get to me, that He gave up everything to come near?
God wrapped himself in flesh, and it was holy and messy.
He broke through time and space and dimension to make a home in me, and that journey had to hurt.
It’s unending darkness and infinite light.
And now we live in the grief and fulfillment, the already/not yet, and it’s so beautiful it hurts and it hurts even though it’s beautiful.
The weary world, indeed. And yet, rejoicing.