Heaven knows I dance to the
beat of my own drum.
I hear a different drum today—one that would be out of place this time of year if it could actually be confined to a time of year. Thankfully, blessedly, mercifully, this drum is timeless. It beats just as clearly in the dead of July as it does during wicked Illinois Decembers.
Can you hear it?
It’s a little drummer boy’s drum, and he is playing for a newborn King.
A few weeks ago, David and I were rehashing a familiar conversation about all the movies I haven’t seen that he wants me to watch someday. Among them was “A Christmas Story.” That turned to conversation to Christmas movies in general, one of the best of which is “White Christmas.” We had intended to watch it right before Christmas break last December, but that was just another plan that got lost in the chaos of exams and end-of-semester work. Jasmine piped in and said that we have that movie here.
It was as though the air itself got excited. The room seemed a little bit lighter. We had no choice. Christmas in July had to be celebrated.
July 25th would have made the most sense, but we knew that the orphanage would be in full swing preparation for Mutomboko by then. And since the whole point of Christmas in July is that Christmas can be celebrated at any time, we decided to bump it up to this weekend. Which means that today is Christmas, figuratively speaking…
There shall be hotdogs roasting on an open fire and termites nipping on your nose. There shall be chocolate cake and chocolate fondue and Belgian chocolate and hopefully some chocolate. There shall be singing and rejoicing, and there shall be a reminder that Hope has come, and we have Something to celebrate.
We tried to keep it amongst the volunteers, but the Christmas spirit just cannot be stifled. Johnny caught a whiff of it and has been leading his little compatriots in their favorite Christmas song all morning. Choruses of “Ding dong ding, everybody sing, to the newborn King!” are ringing across the courtyard at this very moment.
Last night we decorated the Christmas tree, and someone (I think Jasmine and Mary) moved it into the living room. This morning there were several small presents beneath it, to each of us from "Santa." All silly festivities and light-hearted white elephant gifts aside, at its heart this has been an opportunity to celebrate the coming of Christ, and in that the essence of Christianity. Wake up, little town of Bethlehem! Hope has arrived, Redemption is here, and Joy has come to dwell among us, and that is something to celebrate.
I do love Christmas. In many ways, I love the time leading up to Christmas the most of all. I cherish the promise of the Advent. A pastor from a Nashville church family I dearly love describes the whisper of Advent as, “The Not-Yet will be worth it.” Such words have given me great strength and comfort many times in the past. They carry an element of mystery with them, for in so many ways, none of us really knows what the Not-Yet holds any more than the residents of Bethlehem understood or felt the weight of glory that was born among them that night. God painted a literary picture through the Old Testament prophets, and then He was silent. For centuries. Not a whisper; not a sign. And all they had was the promise of Advent:
“The Not-Yet will be worth it.”
They didn’t know what the Not-Yet was. They didn’t recognize Him when He came. They were mostly confused for the duration of His ministry, and even when the stone rolled away, the remaining mystery of how wide, how long, how high, and how deep deep is His love keeps the believer in awe. I can only echo the words of the blind man in John 9, whose response to the many questions and accusations from the religious leaders concerning Christ was a sure and simple, “One thing I know: I once was blind, but now I see.”
I bounce between those two mantras. Sometimes I’m waiting for the Not-Yet to show up, and I wonder what the arrival will look like, and He’s been silent for so long...
Sometimes my eyes are opened as if for the very first time, and I struggle for words at all, and all I know is that I once was blind, but now I see. That’s all. And it’s enough.
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.
Glory to the newborn King.
Merry Christmas, my friends—and God bless us, every one.
I hear a different drum today—one that would be out of place this time of year if it could actually be confined to a time of year. Thankfully, blessedly, mercifully, this drum is timeless. It beats just as clearly in the dead of July as it does during wicked Illinois Decembers.
Can you hear it?
It’s a little drummer boy’s drum, and he is playing for a newborn King.
A few weeks ago, David and I were rehashing a familiar conversation about all the movies I haven’t seen that he wants me to watch someday. Among them was “A Christmas Story.” That turned to conversation to Christmas movies in general, one of the best of which is “White Christmas.” We had intended to watch it right before Christmas break last December, but that was just another plan that got lost in the chaos of exams and end-of-semester work. Jasmine piped in and said that we have that movie here.
It was as though the air itself got excited. The room seemed a little bit lighter. We had no choice. Christmas in July had to be celebrated.
July 25th would have made the most sense, but we knew that the orphanage would be in full swing preparation for Mutomboko by then. And since the whole point of Christmas in July is that Christmas can be celebrated at any time, we decided to bump it up to this weekend. Which means that today is Christmas, figuratively speaking…
There shall be hotdogs roasting on an open fire and termites nipping on your nose. There shall be chocolate cake and chocolate fondue and Belgian chocolate and hopefully some chocolate. There shall be singing and rejoicing, and there shall be a reminder that Hope has come, and we have Something to celebrate.
We tried to keep it amongst the volunteers, but the Christmas spirit just cannot be stifled. Johnny caught a whiff of it and has been leading his little compatriots in their favorite Christmas song all morning. Choruses of “Ding dong ding, everybody sing, to the newborn King!” are ringing across the courtyard at this very moment.
Last night we decorated the Christmas tree, and someone (I think Jasmine and Mary) moved it into the living room. This morning there were several small presents beneath it, to each of us from "Santa." All silly festivities and light-hearted white elephant gifts aside, at its heart this has been an opportunity to celebrate the coming of Christ, and in that the essence of Christianity. Wake up, little town of Bethlehem! Hope has arrived, Redemption is here, and Joy has come to dwell among us, and that is something to celebrate.
I do love Christmas. In many ways, I love the time leading up to Christmas the most of all. I cherish the promise of the Advent. A pastor from a Nashville church family I dearly love describes the whisper of Advent as, “The Not-Yet will be worth it.” Such words have given me great strength and comfort many times in the past. They carry an element of mystery with them, for in so many ways, none of us really knows what the Not-Yet holds any more than the residents of Bethlehem understood or felt the weight of glory that was born among them that night. God painted a literary picture through the Old Testament prophets, and then He was silent. For centuries. Not a whisper; not a sign. And all they had was the promise of Advent:
“The Not-Yet will be worth it.”
They didn’t know what the Not-Yet was. They didn’t recognize Him when He came. They were mostly confused for the duration of His ministry, and even when the stone rolled away, the remaining mystery of how wide, how long, how high, and how deep deep is His love keeps the believer in awe. I can only echo the words of the blind man in John 9, whose response to the many questions and accusations from the religious leaders concerning Christ was a sure and simple, “One thing I know: I once was blind, but now I see.”
I bounce between those two mantras. Sometimes I’m waiting for the Not-Yet to show up, and I wonder what the arrival will look like, and He’s been silent for so long...
Sometimes my eyes are opened as if for the very first time, and I struggle for words at all, and all I know is that I once was blind, but now I see. That’s all. And it’s enough.
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.
Glory to the newborn King.
Merry Christmas, my friends—and God bless us, every one.
Christmas is my favorite season ...it can be ANY season. God bless you for bringing it alive in summertime and especially to the orphanage!
ReplyDeleteJoAnne
God has given you as a gift to so many. Thank you for being such a wonderful and loving gift. Merry Christmas Meg. Love you and so proud of you. Angie
ReplyDelete