Mom Diaries: Christmas! Paraugs

Jehovah Jireh

I love Christmas.

 Unabashedly nuts about it. Secretly-start-listening-to-carols-by-October, kind of nuts.

I don't know if my husband and kids go along with it because they're just as excited, or merely because I railroad them into it.

Either way, decorations go up on 25th November.

Christmas season fills up our home with the smells of baking, movies, hot chocolate, outings, and carols. 

Honestly, there's crying and some stress along the way too. 

As a mom, I get flustered by monies and planning and juggling schedules. The house has to look perfect, attending church rehearsals, the kids need shopping money, I don't get a suitable outfit in my size and mood until 23rd night . . . and the list of moans can continue—ironically, in an attempt to make memorable Christmas moments for my family.

But every year, by God's grace, He makes himself heard in the depths of my heart.

It could be in a simple moment when I'm sitting in a cozy chair. The only illumination is the twinkling fairy lights on the Christmas tree.

When it's just me, my owl tree ornaments and my hot chocolate.

It's in these moments that I find the deep communion that I seek with my Lord.

It is in the silence of the evening that I think about the frighteningly joyful sounds of angels on the night of the Savior's birth.

The shiny baubles in my home, in stark contrast to the manger's rusticity. 

I think about the opulent gifts of the Magi vs the budget-pushing ones we buy for each other.

Wondering what the young couple Mary and Joseph might have done for fun and entertainment?

Realizing how a baby is my only Hope.

And rather than overwhelming me or being a crick in my schedule, this meditation centers me.

It brings me back to the heart of Christmas. 

Understanding that the imperfect icing doesn't matter to my daughter and her friends, but laughing around the table and decorating cookies does. 

That the lack of an ingredient or two in the shepherd's pie doesn't matter to my husband, but my smiles do.

The lopsided treetop doesn't matter, but watching my daughter's cat frolic in the tree does.

The strewn around throw pillows don't matter, but hearing the laughter of my teenage son and his friends in my home does. 

Jehovah Jireh is many times thought of in the context of financial provision.

But Christmas shows me that He gives more than just that. 

The real provisions are not just the possessions, activities, decorations, or huge red bows.

The real provision is relationships with family and friends.

The relationship with our neighbors.

The one with the help.

The provision is the hugs you receive from your kids while they still live at home. 

It's the licks from the family pets.

It's in having a good night's sleep after a hearty round of caroling.

The real provision is in the contentment of the heart.

It's where Jesus is born.