at this time every year

I could feel it welling up deep inside me last week. Perhaps it began with the annual ‘turning on of the Christmas music’ a few days earlier. Or the dusting off of so many red and green seasonal accoutrements. Or remembering again how I thought for years those three kings came from Ory and Tar. (A bit more exotic than orient are, wouldn’t you say?)

In any case, it happens every year as I’m struck with the beauty of the Christmas narrative behind the festivities. Despite the majesty and theological brilliance of the old carols…despite the 30+ years of Advent sermons, lessons, and dramas that whirl in my head…

Every year I must add my own words.

Every December, it’s as if the narrative is born in me again. A new thing. A fresh life. It’s a living Word after all. And what wells up inside me, must always pour out in words. Stumbling, weak, tepid, halting, crumbling, aggravatingly mortal ones. But still, I must form them and try hard not to break them as I place them on the page. These words will form poems, essays, plays, short sentences—anything as long as they describe Christ’s birth this season. It’s already begun (case in point.)

I write because God’s gifted me a love of and longing to use words. And it’s one of the biggest acts of worship I know to do—this offering Him (again) my fresh understanding of His greatest gift, His Son, to me.

And (if you wonder what the point of all these ramblings is…) I wonder what you will offer this season, dear reader. I’m most curious to know what God has gifted you, and how you will use that to worship Him this Christmas. Will it be with written or performed music? A new sketch or sculpture? Words spoken or placed on a page? A Holy Spirit prompted act of love or generosity? A special time of quiet, long devotion before God?

……………………..

If you think about it, every major character surrounding the Christmas story responded in some definite way to Christ’s coming. The angels burst with song. Mary magnifies God. Joseph determines to do right. Herod panics (don’t do that, k?). The wise men bring gifts. The shepherds offer a bended knee and low bow…

I write feverishly.

What will you do?

Beth