Come, Lord Jesus

Some people get presents under their Christmas tree. Me? I get a family of five. Four children under eight, and their mother asleep on couches and on mattresses laid out on the living room floor.

It’s 5:30 a.m., and I find a place to squeeze in between the pile of children and blankets, and attempt to have some “quiet time” by the light of the Christmas tree. I am distracted. Her kids all have a cough, they breathe heavily and toss and turn all around me. Her chest heaves and a small moan escapes her lips.

The rain pounds loudly on the tin roof. We need this rain, so I try to be thankful for it. I dream for this mother’s future. I dream that she’ll live. I fleetingly wonder if there are relatives who will raise this brood of young ones if she can’t.

I wonder what their future will hold. I wonder what this day will hold. I watch their chests move up and down and hear my precious ones begin to stir in the other room! I wonder if I can do it again today: care for the 17 children, the sick, the broken, and those who will come for dinner. The house is all a-twinkle. I remind myself of all God’s promises, fulfilled in a baby, and breathe it deep. Grace.

I am so thankful that Jesus meets us in these squished places. He meets us in the stretched places, in-the-squeezed-between-the-tree-and-the-kids moments, and in the desperate-for-quiet-on-the-bathroom-floor-because-everywhere-else-is-full moments.

I read Luke. I think of Bethlehem and how it had no room. I think of how Jesus’ parents squeezed between the animals to place Him in a feeding trough.

This morning in the dark, in the rain, or in whatever mess or squished place or heartache you find yourself, all God’s promises are yes and amen. We can rejoice in thanksgiving! The Savior is here with us. Grace.

The shepherds gazed in wonder, but Mary held all this wonder in the silence of her heart. I bet she dreamed of His future. I bet it was muddy and loud in there, but the sky was all a-twinkle with the light of that star, the heavens bursting with joy at God’s promises all fulfilled. Grace.

I look around and know this is why He came. The King of the universe created all things, even life itself. Clothed in splendor, He took off His royal robes. He laid aside His crown and squeezed all of the fullness of God into the womb of a woman, and then into swaddling clothes in a manger.

He calls my name, right here, and how I long to recognize Him here, right here.

The squished places, the stretched places, and the moments that are loud, messy, and uncertain, this is why He came. The heartaches, the doubt, and the wounds that our sin carves deep, that’s why He is here.

All this life hanging in the dark of the morning, isn’t this why we wait, why we celebrate? Isn’t this why we light the candles, the tree, and the house and saying with all the longing in our hearts, “Come, Lord Jesus?”

Come, Lord Jesus.

This morning in the dark, in the rain, or in whatever mess or squished place or heartache you find yourself, all God’s promises are yes and amen. We can rejoice in thanksgiving! The Savior is here with us. Grace.

His promise is yes to you, friends. “Yes, I have come. Yes, I am coming. Yes, I am with you always, even to the very end of the age.”

I pray that you’ll recognize His handprints all over your day today.