Atop a step ladder, I swayed right, left, front, back, finally balanced, and tried once again to hang the angel over the manger scene on our mantel. Thinking the angel secure amidst a string of lights to showcase the crèche below, I leaned back to see how things were looking.
Half-seconds later, the angel fell onto the nativity scene below, not only displacing a shepherd and wise man, but baby Jesus as well. As I sighed and climbed down to survey the damage, I noticed that not only was the wise man missing his leg below the knee, but baby Jesus’ head had broken off.
I broke the head off baby Jesus!
Physically exhausted from hours of decorating, I allowed myself to emotion-dive into PLOM disease—Poor Little Ol’ Me. Who cares if I decorate, anyway? I’m terrible at this! It’s all a lot of work that doesn’t matter.
As I wiped the remnants of snot-crying from my face, my husband rounded the corner, smiled, and, always the encourager, told me how great everything was looking.
Before I could tell him how wrong he was, he continued, “When I put out the Christmas lights in our yard, I think how it’s all about celebrating Jesus. It’s just—a gift.”
OKAY, I ADMIT IT. My first thought was, “Lord, why did I have to marry Mr. Rogers?” But I was convicted. My spirit was in making things look good—for us. It was decorating—for us. It was tradition—for us.
As David left the room, I studied the mantel again. When I started the task, my mindset was about getting another item checked off my to-do list. As I resumed it, I whispered prayers of thanks for God’s only son.
Yes, I had to get out the hot glue gun to re-attach Jesus’s head and the wise man’s leg. But those imperfections reminded me that we serve a King who meets us in our imperfections. He makes us whole.
Now to get to that gift wrapping...
Half-seconds later, the angel fell onto the nativity scene below, not only displacing a shepherd and wise man, but baby Jesus as well. As I sighed and climbed down to survey the damage, I noticed that not only was the wise man missing his leg below the knee, but baby Jesus’ head had broken off.
I broke the head off baby Jesus!
Physically exhausted from hours of decorating, I allowed myself to emotion-dive into PLOM disease—Poor Little Ol’ Me. Who cares if I decorate, anyway? I’m terrible at this! It’s all a lot of work that doesn’t matter.
As I wiped the remnants of snot-crying from my face, my husband rounded the corner, smiled, and, always the encourager, told me how great everything was looking.
Before I could tell him how wrong he was, he continued, “When I put out the Christmas lights in our yard, I think how it’s all about celebrating Jesus. It’s just—a gift.”
OKAY, I ADMIT IT. My first thought was, “Lord, why did I have to marry Mr. Rogers?” But I was convicted. My spirit was in making things look good—for us. It was decorating—for us. It was tradition—for us.
As David left the room, I studied the mantel again. When I started the task, my mindset was about getting another item checked off my to-do list. As I resumed it, I whispered prayers of thanks for God’s only son.
Yes, I had to get out the hot glue gun to re-attach Jesus’s head and the wise man’s leg. But those imperfections reminded me that we serve a King who meets us in our imperfections. He makes us whole.
Now to get to that gift wrapping...