'I build to this moment throughout December...' Photo: Pixabay via pexels.com.
The Christmas pause
Beth Allen muses on peaceful moments
Can I get to the moment of peace this Christmas, and make it last longer? The pause – the time, late in the afternoon of 24 December, when everything slows down, nothing more can be posted or bought, the front doors are shut, and the busyness reaches its purpose.
I sit down and put aside the fretting: Will he like the present? Did the last-minute card reach that friend we had forgotten? Did I make enough mince pies? Have I got enough library books to keep me going till they open again? Too late now for anything but hope and trust – in some cases well-founded, in others more fragile!
I build to this moment throughout December. The house must be clean enough not to be shown up by the lights, or disgraced by the decorations. The presents must be bought and wrapped in time. Every card received must be stuck up somewhere. All so that I can lay the planning aside, put my feet up, and look quietly at the reason for it all.
But the moment comes whether I am ready or not! The world doesn’t wait on my perfectionism, the baby arrives and has to make do with a manger; the door of my quiet stable is thrown open to freezing winds and the little domestic cosiness I have contrived is crowded with unexpected visitors and awkward presents.
On top of all this – because of that baby – I’m now expected to work for world peace, to recycle all that wrapping paper, to reconcile power-centred kings of industry and banking with shepherds expecting cuts to their minimal incomes; to stitch together the ripped fabric of the world’s communities, and to show searchers the still stable centre…
OK, baby, you win (they always do, anyway) – I’ll do my bit. At least you are asleep now, for a little while, and we have this pause – the moment of rest I’d hoped for – to gather strength and energy for next year and next year’s work.
The moments of peace come when they come. God, help me make the most of them.
The baby is wrapped up warmly in love, more important than manger or cradle. Jesus, help me understand what’s essential.
Other people do the washing up. Spirit, help me share out the work I hang on to.
Still stable centre, thank you for the gifts – and thank you, most of all, for overflowing hope, trust and love.
