We are overwhelmed,
With lists demanding to be done,
Money to be spent when there is none,
Entertaining to be offered,
Parties to be attended,
Lights to be seen,
And we reach our breaking points,
The façade of celebration crumbles,
Music becomes noise,
Smiles become blank stares,
Wishes fade into early sunsets,
Grant us the grace,
Not to look beyond,
But into the world around us,
For within the mass of wrapping paper,
Cluttered rooms and never ending claims on our time,
The incarnation becomes a reality.
We are told to await a God who is with us,
Among us, and pitching a tent in our souls.
A God dwelling in the most unlikely of places and
redeeming the most unwilling of people,
People like us,
Breaking point people,
Who can no longer hide our brokenness
nor fix on our own what we’ve done and left undone.
Free of us of the limits we impose on your grace,
whether we are looking the mirror or across the street.
We wait in grace and peace. We release the lists so that we may better hold you close when you come, Blessed Infant, God with us.