Chaos or Tranquility

   I stayed up late last night. The dogs had even put themselves to bed when I finally climbed into that double bed my husband and I are still sharing after thirty-six years of marriage while the clock had already made its way into today. I am now tired, really tired, but last night I had put enough ornaments on the tree that I could turn off the other lights in the living room and just sit. So I did. I sat there and I thought about the paradox of Christmas. How we work ourselves to the bone sometimes to create something beautiful and then forget to enjoy it. How the glory of Christmas really has very little to do with the glittering trees and presents stacked under them. How a simple manger filled with hay in a humble stable with animals has somehow been corrupted by the wayward and sinful heart of man into something so commercial that it seems downright tawdry. And yet, and yet. I was talking to the Lord last night in front of my tree. Admiring the tree. Yes. Thankful for the beauty. Yes. Glad to be done with the work of setting it up. Yes. And then I heard the whisper. So soft. So still I almost missed it.
      I am here.
     "Here?" I asked. "Here in this mess that I have yet to clean  up and the beauty I am trying so hard to create? Here? This is more chaos than tranquility. Really."
      Yes, HERE.
   What could I say?  His words are for me both the mystery and the true beauty of Christmas. That He IS here. With me. Emmanuel. God with us. I could not help but get down off of the sofa and stretch myself out the floor before an awesome and Holy God who would come. And who would stay to make the way. And who though He departed, gave to us the gift of the Comforter, another treasured, complete, and perfect aspect of Himself.
     Emmanuel. The One who will never leave or forsake us. It is almost too much to believe. But that is the wonder of Christmas. That we believe. He understood that the wonder of Christmas would afford us the very opportunity to become like little children. Full of joy and giddy with the glory of it all. That the angels came to the shepherds. That the skies were filled with the sound of their magnificent singing. That Joseph stood watch over Mary with such tenderness in his heart. That Mary held in her arms the Babe who was the long expected One. That together she and Joseph watched the shepherds who had left their flocks, come one by one to kneel on the rough floor of that stable. To offer no gift but their worship. And there in the manger lay the King of Glory. This is not so hard to believe.  Suddenly I am five. I am twelve. I am forty. I am fifty-six. Yet  I am still the child. Desperately wanting to believe this and more and wanting and willing to go deeper still. I speak aloud my heart cry, "I need you to help me believe." And the whisper comes again.
     I am here.
     It is all and more than I need in this moment.