Merry Christmas Eve
If you're receiving this note, it means we survived the fifteen-hour road trip from Colorado to Texas, hopefully with most of our sanity intact. We've only done this drive once before, with a three-year-old Emma, a fifteen-month-old Cooper, and a pregnant me.
This time around, with kids who are now two, four, and six, the first hour included tears, many requests, and far too many "when are we there?" questions. Matt turned to me and said, "Didn't we swear we'd never drive to Texas again?"
Yes. Yes, we did.
It's Christmas Eve. The most anticipated day of the year. Tomorrow we celebrate the arrival of Christ, the long-awaited Savior. A baby born into the world, helpless and wholly loved. Fully God and fully man. The greatest paradox of ordinary and holy wrapped up in a single birth.
Before becoming a mom, my attention always lingered on the baby in the Christmas story. Now, after having my own, I find myself thinking about the mother. I wonder how Mary was doing. What the waiting felt like. How long she labored. What it was like to finally hold Him in her arms.
As Christmas approaches, I imagine her body changing, the beginning of labor pains, the journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem, nearly ninety miles, by foot or donkey. Were she and Joseph hoping to be home for the birth? Were they frustrated when they learned they had to travel? Did Mary ever question God's plan?
What anticipation. What a slow, steady march toward Bethlehem. It makes me thankful my own journey involved car seats and snacks instead of a donkey and dust.
And yet, in all of that inconvenience, everything was unfolding exactly as God intended. No room at the inn. Swaddling cloths. A manger. A humble beginning for the Son of God.
This time of year asks a lot of moms. The gifts, the wrapping, the magic, the cookies, the travel, the full calendar. By the time Christmas arrives, many of us are exhausted. Carrying both the joy of the season and the weight of everything we hoped would be different.
But here is what I want to remember tonight. Christmas does not rest on our ability to make it perfect. God is still moving and working, even through inconvenience, unmet expectations, and tired bodies. Whether this season feels full of joy or quietly heavy, one thing does not change.
The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. We have seen His glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. — John 1:14
Christmas is not something we produce. It is something we receive.