I spent a few quiet moments last evening sitting still in my music room, in the dark, staring into the twinkly white lights of the big Christmas tree. I was transfixed, watching the tiny lights glint off beloved figures of angels and miniature musical instruments, each ornament holding memory of place and time. Plus, I was too exhausted to move, so the sitting still felt pretty inevitable.
Everything was so sparkly...so perfect...so pretty.
Reluctantly I got up to make my interview list for today's site visit, walked into the darkened den to get my file case...and ran full force into the tall, heavy, still-boxed-up Christmas tree for the den! Flipping on the light, I remembered that the entire room was pretty full of decoration boxes, yet to be unpacked. I had wrestled them down from the storage on Saturday, and there they sat, mostly.
My holiday home is a combination of gritty and pretty. Matter of fact, so is my life. How about yours?
Jesus was born into a world of beauty and of cruelty, wealth and poverty, ease and strife. As he grew, he didn't shrink from either gritty or pretty--he made himself at home in the midst of what real life brought.
Jesus took on the wholeness of being human--gritty, pretty, all the plainness in between--and lived in our rooms. The ones with the decorated trees, and the ones with unpacked boxes.
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