Before the need for perfect, there was simple.
Oh, so completely simple.
A stable.
Wooden manger.
An exhausted new mother.
A terrified first-time father,
unsure of his fresh role.
Before the quest for the perfect holiday, there was a journey. A faithfully fearful passage.
Full of eager anticipation.
Following the guidance of an angel.
By the light of an unmistakable star.
Straight toward prophesied uncertainty.
Before the craziness and chaos of the holidays, there was undeniable peace.
Amidst the quiet darkness of a wooden building meant for animals, not a King.
A baby’s bed made of hay.
Respectful visitors, in awe of new life.
Rest, tranquility and anxious-filled quiet.
Before chasing the mirage of perfection crept into our lives…
…a grand tree
…an expensively prepared holiday meal
…hundreds-upon-thousands
of dollars spent on gifts
…rushing from event-to-event;
from obligation-to-obligation
…working overtime to ensure a faultless experience…
…there was imperfect.
Gorgeously uncertain and incredibly simple; imperfect.
An imperfectly beautiful night that
granted each-and-every one of us
the greatest, most undeserving
Gift of all.
Unconditional.
Ever-forgiving.
All-encompassing.
Unlimited.
Life-everlasting.
Grace.
A lifetime of the most unmerited gift. Made possible by the sacrifice of a newborn baby. In the quiet stillness of a livestock stable. Under the majestic light of the North Star.
So humble.
So fearful.
So anticipated.
So serene.
So still.
So often forgotten.
So easy to remember.
Such a powerfully tranquil celebration.
Before the need for perfect, there was simple.
Oh, so completely…
…beautifully…
…magnificently…
…sovereignly…
…intensely…
…redeeming-ly…
simple.
***
