Smack dab in the middle of the Christmas season I can feel such a compulsion to strive.  Often my heart is not at rest waiting for Jesus to come to me yet again, but straining; desperately reaching for entrance into the place where memory meets longing meets wonder meets fulfillment.  A way to touch transcendence and meaning and connection.

If I bake enough cookies and the house is filled with lovely ribbons of sugar – will that do it?  If there are decorations and lights and boughs of evergreen – will our world, our home, our family be secure in the love and light of God?

Can I carol and wrap my way into the time of my childhood when I carried no responsibility for beauty or Santa or Jesus?  Can I create an experience where I connect my past with my families present and the world will be lovely and safe and rest on a foundation of unshakeable love?

We dress up our homes and neighborhoods in lights and bows and nostalgia, reaching for hope and a better world. How do I get there with my family?  If we go to midnight mass? If we dress up for Christmas dinner?  If I put an elf on a shelf?  If we continue with our family traditions of waffles, berries and whipped cream for breakfast and an ornament in the stocking, will we know we are connected to our past and will therefore be connected in our future?

That there is a future that is good.

That there is coming a time when hope and longing and promise will be fulfilled and it’s lovelier than twinkly Christmas lights.  Our hearts will be embraced and known, and we will know that all is better than well.

Where all is gained and nothing good is lost and Jesus is at once the Babe in the manger and the Warrior on his steed.  The lion and the lamb will lie down together. And the fragrance of sugar cookies baking will carry only the scent of satisfaction and naught of hunger.  Where my mother is alive and my father is laughing, my husband’s eyes are dancing and my sons along with all God’s children know they are seen and loved.

That’s the Christmas I want.  The best moments of the past and the memory of what should have been married to the beauty and depth of what could be – become one.

With perfect packages under the tree.  And with every one being opened bringing deeper delight.  Endlessly.  Endlessly.  Endlessly.

So rest, my heart.  Jesus came and the Christmas I want is coming.