Christmas Time and Joyful Tears

I have always loved Christmas time.  The music, the lights, the smell of pine filling the house, the garland, the process of putting up and taking down decorations, and most of all the comfort of family surrounding me.  My parents have always made it a priority to remind us that it is not about the presents and all the fuss the world has made it to be, but instead always directed us towards the true meaning.  The birth of our precious Savior.  During our morning tradition of eating Monkey Bread fresh from the oven, Dad would usually read from the Bible and we would pray together.  It was a moment of peace amongst the bickering we siblings often started, much to my mother's disdain.  Looking back now, I love that moment most (and the stockings and presents of course!).  The peace.  Jesus came to bring us peace where there once was fear, and hope where we once felt lost.

Last year at this time of year, I was in my third trimester and overwhelmed with the joy my bulging belly brought to my life.  Every Christmas song I heard about baby Jesus brought forth a flood of tears as I sat thinking of all the possible emotions Mary must have felt as she was preparing to bring the Son of God into the world.  What a scary, emotional, joyous, overwhelming, honoring place to be in.  Oh, the tears I shed!  I would automatically place my hands on my belly and press firmly on my precious child's body and feel her move beneath my hands.  My heart would feel heavy with emotion and begin to beat a bit faster in those moments of admiration for that young girl Mary and the gift she was given and gave to the world.  To me.  How unworthy, but forever grateful I am!  I didn't know my sweet girl yet, or even that she was in fact a baby girl, but my love for her was something I had never experienced in my short 26 years.  Something so surreal.  So big.  So full.

As I sit here writing this, my little girl is sleeping soundly in her yellow room, atop her polka dot sheets, with her pink lovey.  Peace.  She brings me more joy than I thought humanly possible.  What did Mary think as she watch baby Jesus sleep, wrapped in swaddling clothes snuggled close to her body?  I imagine she shed many joyous tears.  A love so large, so pure.  My heart is filled with gratitude for the gift of God's Son, born to a young couple, to walk among us and show us the way to life eternal.

This morning I read a snippet from a woman's blog posted by my cousin, and I want to share part of what she had to say.  It is beautiful, and a great truth.

"Amanda and I sat on the kitchen floor last Friday and listened to The Little Drummer Boy again and again and I cried and cried. Amanda snuggled deep into my lap and she kept turning around, cupping my chin in her hands, tilting her little head and saying, “Are okay?” Are okay?” I nodded, held her tight, inhaled her neck and used all of my senses to take her in. I marveled at how she could offer me so little, how she could, in truth, be such an incredible drain, and how I could still adore her so completely. How I could cry just thinking of her. How I’ve memorized every roll on her thighs, every red streak in her hair, the feel of her velvety cheek, and every expression her face has ever made. How there is nothing she could ever do to make me love her any more or any less. How she is already everything she needs to be for me. How she is a reflection of all that is true and good in me, because I made her.
When she started rubbing her eyes, I put her inside her crib and watched her fall asleep. I love her most at the moment she decides to trust me to keep her safe, and so her eyelids close and she falls away and just breathes. And when she awakens and I walk into her room, she turns her face toward me, throws her arms in the air and says Mama, and it’s enough to drive me to my knees in gratitude and awe and never get back up.

Maybe God gave me my little girl so that I might understand how he feels about His little girl.

I know, with my whole body, mind, and soul, that the way I love my baby girl is the same way God loves me. He has memorized every hair on my head and he watches me sleep and wake and when I cry He pets my hair and says “Are okay?” He has never, ever let go of my hand. When I run, He follows, and He never grows tired or weary. His plans for me are more beautiful than I can dream and He wants me to come to him like a child because that’s the way He loves me most. Empty handed. Utterly dependent, with no gifts to bring. He looks at my face and my outstretched, empty hands and He sees his little baby girl. The little girl He created. I don’t have to be a grown up with Him. I don’t have to be a wife or a mother or a friend or a teacher or a writer or a woman in his presence. He created me solely because He wanted someone to love. So that’s all I have to be, someone to love. He wants me to rest in the truth that there is nothing I can do to make Him love me any more or any less. He already knows about the choices I made yesterday – no need to be ashamed, and he already knows what will happen tomorrow – no need to be afraid. He doesn’t want me or need me to be anything more than the needy bundle of tears and love that I was the day I was born and that I am today, on the kitchen floor. He just wants me to sit still and accept His gift, which today is the sensation that my heart might explode as His love and adoration flow from Him through me, His baby girl, and into my baby girl."

Thankful.  Loved.