Today is for you, tired mama ….
When I walk out my door, this season shouts at me. It doesn’t whisper.
Bright and loud and busting at the seams with activity is how December wants me to dress it up — for me and for my children.
But something inside of me craves quiet. I want the whisper.
When my girls sit inches from the Christmas tree, by the fire, paging through books or painstakingly combing knots out of dolls’ hair I can see that something in them craves quiet too.
Adoration* invites the quiet (yup, right in the middle of all the ruckus). Adoration invites God into the everyday minutes — even the loud ones. Adoration gives me permission to look a little bit longer at Him, when everything around me allures me into rapid glances.
So this advent meditation* below? It’s for you. Your girls will benefit as their mama’s mind and heart get the whisper from Him that she craves. Pour a cup of tea, take a few minutes … and breathe in. Him.
And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. Luke 2:7*
To one woman, You were a firstborn son.
To us, You were King, laid low, but to her — then — You were her firstborn. First cry, first suckle, first swaddling of one that was her very own flesh.
She was still mother, even though You were Savior.
You made Yourself flesh, even to she who was invited in to the holy huddle that night. You didn’t compromise Yourself and You didn’t compromise flesh. You were of her flesh and blood.
I adore You, God who wrapped Yourself in the vulnerability of infancy, all so that my vulnerable flesh might taste Your glory. You didn’t just visit flesh, You embodied it. All so that we might know the smell of Your skin.
You put definition to Your Father’s nearness. It wasn’t simply so that we would acknowledge how much our lives have been understood by our maker. You came near so that God would have a face, to us.
You gave me a grid for looking into Your eyes and receiving Your look into mine.
For witnessing Your tears.
For putting an expression to joy and delight and for putting words to love.
For seeing how holiness responds when flesh is stretched. God, You reached out and you touched so that I might know this very thing.
You touch. You hold, You cup, You cradle. You did, then, as a visible expression of what You had always done. You put on love so that my weak flesh might see it.
I adore You, God nearer than I know.
Your love breathes and sighs. It sings and it laughs. It weeps. And, yes, it feels.You don’t shout commands from on-high, You are teeming with nearness.
Your love is active.
And she held it. That love was her firstborn son.
I adore You, holiness wrapped in flesh that demonstrated that the two might find home in the other.
Your wonder, in that night, has a forever-wonder to work in me. Father, You have only just begun in me …
*So what is “adoration” — what does it look like, you ask? If you haven’t yet, read: Why I Adore to give you a context for this little space on my blog.
If you are compelled, I invite you to participate with the group of us over here who are adoring Him, daily. Set up a space and time in your own life to begin adoring. Over laundry or dinner dishes, on your commute to work, or in the wee morning hours — five or ten minutes is a great start. You can use the verse I list here every day or two as a launch pad for your own adoration. (Showing Up gives you some practicals. And How to Really Fall in Love gives a little more context.)
Then practice praise.
I promise your weary soul won’t regret it.
Photos compliments of Mandie Joy.