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Make Space; This is Advent


The quiet inconspicuous moments.

Where the miracle is birthed.

Where we make space

to behold the newborn King.

There is nothing flashy or hurried about it.

In fact,

We must retreat from the hustle.

From the tinsel and ribbon.

To meet Him,

to greet Him.

To behold the newborn King.

In the mess of the hay.

Among the humble and meek.

To quiet our hearts

and hush our voices

as you do

when the miracle of new birth

is in your midst.

To behold His fragility

and honour His majesty.

Where all is calm

and all is bright.

Where comfort and joy become your own.

Right in this moment.

In the midst of your mess,

come and behold Him.

Just as you are.

This is Advent.

I stand staring at our Christmas tree.

The scent of pine filling the air.

The crinoline under my Christmas dress

itching my small three year old legs.

I stand on tip toe

to behold Him.

The tiny wooden ornament.

The creche on our tree.

The choir sings in harmony

on our family record player:

All is calm,

all is bright.

In this moment,

in my three year old way,

I make space.

This is Advent.

Years later,

my childhood wonder faded and frayed

through the harsh filter of adulthood.

I trudge through the slushy mess of the city streets

in the December darkness.

Carrying heavy bags of shiny gifts in my hands

and a heavy heart of overwhelm in my chest.

As I let out a sigh,

I catch a glimpse of light to my right.

I stop and watch with wonder.

The light piercing this dark night

illuminating the wooden creche

displayed on the front stoop of the church.

I breathe.

I behold the delicately painted face

of the newborn King.

I hear myself humming something old and familiar:

All is calm,

all is bright…

In this moment

I make space.

This is Advent.

Years later,

the babe in my lap,

of my flesh and blood,

stares at the babe in the manger.

With wonder.

What is it? I ask.

It’s the baby Jesus! He proudly declares.

And what is He doing? I probe, while pointing to the painted creche.

He’s resting, he whispers in his three year old lispy sweetness.

I watch him

while he watches the Christ child.

I hold my sweet boy

as he beholds the miracle of Christmas.

Unconsciously I begin to hum an old familiar tune:

All is calm,

all is bright…

In this moment

we make space.

This is Advent.

Where we get quiet in the expectant waiting.

Where comfort and joy become our own.

In our wonder.

Where the light pierces our darkest of corners.

Where all is calm

and all is bright.

As we make space

and behold the miracle

of the newborn King.

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