Emmanuel

This may or may not bring comfort to you, but it just crossed my mind that on that very first Christmas, there was a Father experiencing it without His Son.

 

I know many of you (and me, so us) feel the ache around Christmas. It comes at this minute or that, with a small tinge or what feels like a punch in the gut. Sometimes I expect it and then other minutes I wonder how I can feel such a juxtaposition of emotion.

I never ever ever ever ever want to tell anybody to not grieve. I think that would be absolutely unkind and to be honest, I kind of think that would be unchristian. So mourn. Grieve. Feel your emotions. And, if you can, allow the Father (who knows the feeling of missing somebody) to comfort you.

And if you can't, know that I'm whispering a prayer this minute that He will do it anyway. That the amount of sorrow you experience today and tomorrow and this season will be lesser than if a prayer had not been whispered this minute.

For the lonely, the lost, the tired, the marginalized, the undeserving, the post-righteous, the sinner, the rich, the men, the women, the old, the young. For the single ones like me whom I have such sweet feelings toward. For the widows and divorcees and abandoned ones. For the married ones and the parents and the ones who desire to be parents. For the orphans and foster kids and the ones who are surrounded with everything they could ever need and still feel the ache.
For all of us, Jesus came down. He left the comfort He deserved. The Trinity felt a pain it had never known before (but had also always known was coming) because for the first time in history, the Trinity broke its perfect communion.

Our God is different from us, and our God knows how we feel. His love is for us today. Our God is with us. Emmanuel.

Merry Christmas Eve.