The Place Between the Leaves

At the close of fall, and the beginning of the Christmas season, I always wait for a feeling to emerge.    That simply because Thanksgiving has passed and I can begin listening to Christmas music, my heart should suddenly have some magical  erruption of joy and gratitude to the One who has come.     Waiting for the evergreens to take their stage, I wait for something in me to begin to celebrate.

But this change of seasons is not always so easy to come.    Just as the leaves all have to die, and turn from their glory back into the soil from where they came, so must I experience a type of surrendering.

To choose to celebrate Christ's coming, is not to have a magical feeling.   It's not seeing all the pretty lights in the night.    Or to have my tree up (which I don't have yet).     To see the beautiful green leaves in my house or around town.

It is to choose to Stop.   Remember.    Listen.    Praise.     Celebrate.

When David talks about a sacrifice of praise, I often think how hard it must have been for him to praise the Lord.   When all of his friends had turned against him.   When every day he was hiding, in fear of his life.   When the one who he had served and loved as his king had betrayed him.   When nothing in his life was going well.    He still chose to praise the Lord.      Through depression, suffering, loss, He gave a sacrifice of praise.

With all the business, chaos, and stuff, there are few moments to sit and ponder the meaning of Christmas, or even the meaning of Christ.

But this is the place between the leaves.   Before the day of Christmas, where we can so boldly celebrate because everything is finally done.   Or before the parties really start.   Where I have to choose to sacrifice some of the stuff to be able to enter in to this place of celebration.   Of praise.   To make myself stop many times feel like a sacrifice.   I would go 100 miles per hour every day, for my entire life, and many days, I confess that I do.    But when I forget to stop, I miss out on the celebration.   Even in this place of waiting for Christmas.    I have to make myself stop.    And allow the Christ to enter into this broken vessel.   For then, I will know His power to experience who He truly is.   This Christmas season, and always.    He enters in, in the same way that He first came.    Sweetly.   Gently.   Quietly.    Humbly.    Powerfully.     

Christ come to us, this day.    As you did so many years ago.    O come, let us adore you.