Christmas Stillness

It’s hard to believe we are exactly one week away from Christmas. And following that, two weeks away from a new year - or rather, a new decade, as everyone, everywhere, seems bent on pointing out. 

This time of the year is always quite crazy with busyness, and this year has been no different. To be completely honest, there was once a time when I found the whole idea of the Christmas season difficult, because the excessiveness of it all confused me. I think I find more charm and beauty in it now, but truthfully, I still feel a twinge of frustration when I pass Christmas displays at the mall packed with an overflow of gift ideas and excessive decorations. Yes, it’s the commercialism bothers me. But maybe that’s the wrong word. It’s more that it exhausts me. I feel as though it’s always taken too far, and it all makes it so much harder to see the simple beauty and magic of this season each year. 

So where does the beauty and magic lie? Well, I imagine you know exactly what I’m going to say. It lies in the Christmas story, of course. In a night full of chaos and stillness simultaneously, so unconventional and messy and simple and sacred. Though there was a manger and animals and an actual birth (the opposite of peaceful), the story has always conveyed an impression of stillness to me. But maybe that’s because I do think that amidst all the craziness, the night Jesus was born was indeed a night of peace. A night when the earth breathed a sigh of relief. The Savior had come. Jesus - fully God, fully man - had stepped into the story of mankind. And redemption was on the horizon. 

And so, in that vein, I think ideally Christmas should be a season of peace. Of stillness, even in the midst of the unavoidable (looking at you, holiday traffic) chaos. The question is, where do we find the stillness? What’s the key, the simple answer, to accessing it in the midst of all the madness? I know of only one that really works, and it’s the same as it is throughout the rest of the year. 

It's so easy to appreciate the Christmas and Easter stories from a distance, but miss their implications to our lives personally. Because to me, both those stories imply a God who cares, a God who loves to the point of sacrifice, a God whose heart longs desperately to be reunited with those He loves. And beyond that, a God who longs to walk in deep, personal relationship with each and everyone one of us. Like a Father, like a friend. So near that in every moment, we are aware that He is there, and convinced of His support always.

God's love is just really wild. I don't know how else to say it. I want to give you specific examples, here, of the ways that He's been showing me the nature of His love lately, but honestly, for some reason I have such a hard time describing them. So I'll keep it simple and just say that His love is pure and faithful and long-suffering and tender. It's the kind of love where you could go for days without acknowledging Him (not that you ever should, obviously), and once your heart finds its way back, you don't feel a sense of condemnation, but that deep love sweep over you again, unchanged and as welcoming as always. And you're just reminded of what you missed out on, in the sweetest and not at all condemning way.

This is where true stillness lies. In the depths of knowing Him. A process, of course, because we're imperfect, easily distracted, and a million other things. But He is always there, waiting and willing for us. The peace that He gives is truly like nothing in this world. He's so different, you know, from anything else this world can offer us. In this season, the world offers chaos and madness. But He offers stillness and peace and gentleness.