It's tempting for me to turn this story of a baby born to a teenage mother in a manger into something untouchable, off-limits-kind-of-holy, something we fancy up, get dressed up to tell, reading the Christmas scriptures in a strange, hushed, church voice. How many times have we been to a candle-light service, heard this story of a first-time, young mother giving birth without a midwife or her mother, in filthy conditions, and imagined something more pristine, more perfect, more glamorous than what really went down that night in Bethlehem. Rarely do I even think of Christmas with sweat, screaming, blood, feces, an umbilical chord that needs cutting, a placenta, and exhausting pain. Yet that is exactly what the first Christmas must have been like.
When I'm tempted to make this story something other than it is, I try to remember that my nieces will probably break Joseph's Staff or the dog may steal a wise man.
But- Children know how to approach the manger. They have a way of taking all the frill, the fake, the phoney reverence out of the Christmas story, and maybe we should thank them for that. They see Jesus as approachable, someone who would want to hang out with them, someone who would welcome their cheetos filthy hands that may very well drop Mary in the bathtub.
The truth is, the story of a King born a baby in a barn is not something we need our best clothes on to hear, or something we need to put on the highest, unreachable shelf. Yes this story is precious and requires reverence and awe when we really sit and contemplate all that God has done to win back rebellious people. But, I never want to forget that He came to our filth. Our dysfunction. He was born right into our complex, broken lives. Emmanuel. God with us. God with the distracted. The greedy. The back-talking children. The moms who fall asleep at night wondering if they could possibly fail more. God with the ones with secrets. The ones who feel left out. The ones who think they will never measure up. The ones with failing marriages. The insecure. The mean. The ones who never seem to learn. He came here. He was born in the middle of my junk, our junk filled lives. He came to be God with us. God in the middle of our homes. The middle of our living rooms. Right in the middle of the madness and mess...He came. Emmanuel. God with humans who are so utterly...hopelessly...human. He was born to a teenage mother who probably would have forgotten to take her prenatal vitamins.
So- there it sits- my manger scene- capable of being played with or left alone- but it is there..vulnerable to become imperfect.
Two other notes for the nite---->
Kregg and I are doing an advent study-its 25 days..my mom is going to discuss it with me daily too.
Day 1 Tonight it talked about anticipation-having to wait for Him to come back. How it is a good thing to have to be patient and wait on God.
Psalm 18:30 God's way is perfect- All the Lords ways prove true
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Tonight Kregg Kyle and Marsha had a music "gig"..at the Care home that Lorene lives in (Ken's mom) :) Kregg was less than thrilled to go - but when he realized he had no choice between me and his mom forcing him--he started to enjoy it. The elderly loved it- and the guests that came did as well. I very much enjoyed the music as they are a good sounding group- but i also enjoyed watching Kregg Kyle and their mom singing together.
Yes-Kregg--You're welcome. A year ago you were singing Karaoke in bars..now you sing at Care Homes :) Oh..we met a year ago..hmmmmmm
