I'm busy this time of year, just like everyone else.  When December arrives I find myself in the midst of so many wonderful events.  It's the nature of the season, and it's the nature of my profession.  I love the concerts.  I love the decorations.  I love the thrill of wonder on the children's faces in my classes as their ears listen classic and traditional seasonal songs for the first time in 11 months or so.  I relish in all the sweet moments.

Christmas is also a difficult season.  We're tired.  We're broke.  We're struggling to make ordinary things a little more magical and it's easy to get all caught up in the festivities and find ourselves completely spent of time, sleep, and money.

I'm getting older, but I've never been able to get through the holiday season without at least one serious cold, a case of the blues, and dark circles under my eyes.  I take great pride in my celebration of the holiday season, which can sometimes be a sickness all to itself.  I'm all too happy to jump on the holiday event bandwagon, but like a kid who ate too many funnel cakes at the fair, sometimes it leaves me feeling a little less than jolly.

I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about all of the many things I must take care of on my list.  I fight the urge to have a pity party in the evenings when I just want to sit down on my couch.  Doubt and hurt feelings are quick to rise to the surface, and I find myself feeling extremely tender and vulnerable about this season and my involvement in all the things.

This season exposes all of our human limitations and makes it crystal clear why the world needs a Savior.  

We just don't always like to hear the Truth in those words. 

I want to be important.  I want to be current and valid and dependable.  I want my voice to have weight, and I want others to hear me and like what I have to say.  I want to create and celebrate and participate and do great things.  I want to bring others into the wonder of the season, and I want to sing and write and share.  

But, I must be remain aware of the stark truth: I can't save the entire world.  My birth was not one heralded by the angels, and my death will not pay the the price for sin.  

This season is not about me . . . this season is for me.  

Then let us all with one accord, sing praises to our heavenly Lord
That hath made heaven and earth of naught
And with His blood, mankind hath bought
Noel. . . born is the King of Israel

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