The white lights peek out of the green branches, whispering glad tidings.
Fragile and small, with a reminder of Hope.
It's beautiful and painful, this season of Promise. There are highs and lows, and all the in betweens. I run myself ragged and try to take it all in, but there's just too much and too many and too little. I am thrilled, and I am blue. I am filled with Hope and Joy, and in the next breath, agony and shame from the wretchedness still managing to take up residence in my heart.
How is it possible to be filled with the goodness of the season, and yet still live with a hollowed, weary feeling? My heart beats with the incredible tension between the two, and I'm currently walking the thin line that separates them. My flesh is bound by the beautiful joy of this season and the good people and things of the earth, and my soul simultaneously longs for the day it will all be right again.
The Light of the world has come so we could have life to the full. Yet, this fullness of life is a painful reminder of our desperate need for a Savior. That even in the midst of my having it all togethers, I'm still a hot mess who is just barely holding her head above the waves most days. And that this sweet baby (which, by the way, was born to a lady who I'm sure didn't feel all together as she pushed a baby into the world in a stable), the one that we sing and teach our children about, was born for all of us, too.