Well, the day before, anyhow.
As I write this, the sun has yet to rise, and my mind is turning toward horse-feeding. The tree is decorated, and there are wrapped presents tucked beneath it–and a few UNwrapped ones, as well, from me to me–a tooled leather make-up bag, stars and stripes boots, and two fantastic purses–3 out of 4 Montana Silversmith designs, by chance. I never got my cards set out, never mind writing my Christmas letter. There was just too much going on–or that’s the excuse I make to myself, alas. Around now, a lot of my sentences seem to begin with, “NEXT year, I will….”
Get my Christmas letter written and my cards mailed out.
I think I said the same things LAST year. Why does Christmas always sneak up on me? After all, it’s on the calendar, clearly marked as December 25. What IS my problem?
Christmas will come anyway, of course. Thank heavens. For all the trees and the presents and the parties and the foo-fal-ah, Christmas is an event of the heart. Christmas is the quiet knowledge that God loved us enough to come down here, in Person, and show us how to live. Love Him, love each other. It all boils down to that. Why do we get so caught up in crossing all the t’s and dotting all the i’s? In the process, we forget the important part, keeping track of all the ways we fall short and all the ways others do. We’re so busy trying to follow rules, most of which we’ve invented ourselves, that we never Get It. We become Puritans, living in mortal fear that somebody, somewhere, is having a good time. Heaven forbid! This is Serious Business, living on Planet Earth.
Or is it a journey, a day trip, one we could mostly enjoy if we just relaxed a little and stopped trying to muscle God aside so we could run the show ourselves. (You don’t have to look past the 6 O’Clock news to see how THAT’S working out for us.)
Christmas–and every other day of the year–is about Grace. It’s about Love. It’s about Trust–believing that God knows what He’s doing, however things may appear from down here in the thick of the ant-hill.
He knows. He loves. He forgives. He is the Granter of second–and thousanth–chances.
That’s Christmas enough for this cowgirl.
Have a blessed one. And try to lighten up a little, will you?