Always found

After Christmas confession:

This has been the worst Christmas for me ever.  It's now over so I hope it's safe to say that.  My favorite part of the season was the  Shabba-Chanukah party we attended Friday night.  Does that tell you anything?

Christmas Eve day, I tried desperately to keep it together while taking care of my last minute wrapping and keeping the kids entertained but clean and ready for service.  I was painting a smile on my face but when I realized that six gifts had gone missing(?) I lost it. Not in front of the kids, but alone, the tears came.

And I started thinking.  Maybe, there were tears that Mary cried on the day before Jesus was born.  Or in the months leading up to.  She would have been hormonal, right?  And stressed even.  She was pregnant with God's son. Not Joseph's.  They were journeying far.  And they arrive at their destination only to find 'No room at the inns.'  Maybe she broke down a little.  So, perhaps, waiting for Jesus, it's okay to cry under the pressure, wanting so badly the relief of his arrival.

And then I thought some more.  I remembered the song 'The Little Drummer Boy'.  And I prayed that me letting the kids make gingerbread cookies and ornaments would be enough for Jesus. He knew my heart wasn't in it this year.  But I did what I could.  I gave what very little I possessed.

And then I found the presents.  And we made it to church.  And that was beautiful.  We ate Chinese food and read a Christmas story before bed and all in all it turned out okay.

Christmas morning, I tried to keep things jolly as well.  We opened presents, and messed the house royally with polly pocket shoes, puzzle pieces, and play-do and at noon when the kids left, I again let the tears come.

But it's okay.  Jesus is here.

We never did find the thumbnail Jesus from our nativity.  And the last few weeks, every store I've been in I've looked for a replacement nativity....with no luck.   I found one finally, on Saturday.  So I bought it.  It's still in its packaging to save it from the three year old's violent hands but I may just open it and take out baby Jesus.... to hold Him, to remind me that He can always be found.


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