After twenty-month-old William left, the Fisher Price Nativity Set lay strewn over the living room floor with Baby Jesus nowhere in sight.
It reminded me of how Christmas often happens—finals to write, the last essays to grade, packages to send, holiday plans finalized—decorating, baking, programs, and on and on. And how often are lives strung out over the month without Jesus in sight?
Then, I question: Do we want it any other way? Do we really?
Or, do we get self-satisfaction from lack of sleep, adrenaline surges, and plastering “super mom” over our faces? Maybe we don’t really want it to stop.
If I stop long enough to ponder, just where would those reflections take me?
To my knees?
To a place of regret and sadness?
To a cross?
Our house is all decorated. The tree is draped with ornaments special to us. Garland decks the stairs and cabinet tops. Candy canes line the drive. We sure look good.
But, in all that glitz and sparkle, where is that Baby?
I found the Fisher Price Jesus tipped over and under the coffee table?
Have I left the real Lord there as well?