The Humblest Hope

I write this two days before Christmas, leaning against my kitchen counter as I listen to the simultaneous sounds of boy feet pounding back and forth upstairs, the San Diego Poinsettia Bowl on the tv in the family room, and Jim Carrey's inspired Grinch playing on the tv in our office.

If I cast my eyes to the right of my laptop, a pile of paperwork looms, forms and calendars and doctor bills, all demanding my attention before December 31.

Behind the laundry room door to my left sits three loads of clean clothes, towels, and sheets that wait to be folded.

In the back of Knute's car, hidden under a blanket, are piles of wrapped presents that had been hidden at my parents home; tonight they will be smuggled into our basement until the waning hours of Christmas Eve when all three of our children are sound asleep and Santa can work his magic.

Around every corner, in every drawer, cabinet, and inbox lurk tasks, work, and all the chores that require my hands, my mind, my very energy to keep our home, our family, our lives on track, organized, and sane.

The chorusing voices of The Busy is loud, my friends. It booms then echoes in my head with it's endless need.

Tomorrow, though, I will turn away from The Busy.

Tomorrow, I will spend my time - my fleeting and therefore precious time on this Earth - doing what matters.

I will laugh with my family.

I will make memories with my children.

And very late tomorrow night, when the darkness has fallen and the cold wind brushes stray snowflakes against the window, I will sit in our small church and wonder.

I will wonder.

How can it be that our God who is All, our God who is the Alpha and the Omega, chose to come to this world for us, to be with us, to save us, chose to come not in a blaze of fiery, awe-inspiring glory but instead as the weakest, smallest, most vulnerable of us all?

As the most humble of hopes?

I will wonder.

May your Christmas be filled with wonder as well.


God Bless you and yours.

---- Marianne