Prepare Him Room: Making Space for Wonder

There is something about this time of year that makes me want to stand aside. To take a few moments (or a few days) to ponder deep and complicated theology and feelings that are brought to the forefront this time of year.

In true irony, it is also one of the busiest times of the year when I never seem to find time for the things that mean the most to me. I have a list each year of things that I value during this season but invariably they end up at the bottom of the list.

I keep wishing for things to be simpler and easier and for there simply to be less.

I’ve been saying no to a lot of things. Good things. Fun things. Concerts, family events, serving opportunities. The guilt quickly piles up when I see all the boxes I’m not checking.

But I also know what my heart needs most this time of year to do all the seeking and pondering I’m after, space and time.

You can't rush wonder or hurry joy. Click To Tweet

That doesn’t mean that I’m doing away with all the holiday decorations and never leaving my house for the next month while I sit quietly in front of a single candle while the laundry and dishes pile up. (Though, if I’m honest, that certainly has some appeal).

We were driving to work today and I found myself teary-eyed over a Christmas carol yet again. (God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, in case you were wondering.) I asked my husband if I’m always a weepy mess the entire month of December. He informed me that has been the case for most of the time he’s known me.

There is a pull in my spirit, one that is trying to understand the bedrock of truth that runs beneath this season that can so quickly fill with glitz and noise.

I love a bit of glitz and a little jolly hubbub, yet there is something inside me crying out to connect with the ancient and sacred.

During the pandemic, the church we attend made the decision to prerecord the rather extravagant Christmas Eve service they had planned, for fear of someone becoming ill and having to pivot at the last minute. Then the debate was had, why bother having an in-person service at all?

My heart broke. Because no matter how simple, there is something beautiful and valuable about the gathering of the people of God, on Christmas Eve.

I had just finished reading with my children about the early Moravian settlers. How they named the city we live in Bethlehem on Christmas Eve as they worshipped adjacent to a stable. (We also read about how years later they continued their Christmas worship and traditions even while under imminent attack).

They continued in simplicity despite the complexity of their situations.

In the end, a very small in-person service was held with a few stalwart volunteers and a small group of attendees. It is a fond memory for me, mostly because of its simplicity. Modern churches seem to plan their Christmas and Easter services like it’s the Christian Super Bowl. I’m not here to argue that they shouldn’t. But sometimes my heart just isn’t in it.

Even when I’m in a place of joy and peace rather than the painful waiting that has often marked our family Christmas season, I still find myself aching for something quiet and simple. A few carols, reading of the scriptures, time of reflection, and room for tears.

So I let myself cry even if it’s just in the car as I drive from one event to another. I read the ancient words

“Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.” 

I remind my own soul to be at peace even amidst some of the unavoidable busyness.

But mostly I listen.

Listen to the songs that seem to encapsulate the truth of this season so well, whether recent or revered.

Listen to the still mostly childish laughter of my children as they revel in the joys of this season.

Listen for the still small voice that draws me all the way back to the manger in Bethlehem.

So I may join the throng to stand aside and wonder.