Lupus is kicking my rear end these days. I woke up feeling like I had been run over by an 18 wheeler, and utterly exhausted after a night’s sleep.
My list of things to do immediately got rearranged.
I had some things that were non-negotiable, so my day had to be worked around those because those things were all I was going to have the energy for.
There would be no gingerbread dough made, today. No dashing out to the store to buy a gift for the giving tree, or or present shopping. I knew I wouldn’t make it to the post office to mail packages and cards. No where on that list was cleaning the house, or paining the room that was supposed to get painted before Thanksgiving.
My priorities consisted of meals to make, kids to get to their places, and a class to teach in the afternoon. That was it.
Not a lot of Christmas making, is it?
Like everyone else, I wanted to do more. This time of year is about making merry and bright, and I was not up to the task. All I wanted to do was work to make Christmas happen, and I couldn’t. I was lacking in every way. No Jesse Tree reading, no Christmas stories, no reading at all.
And then I remembered that Advent is about the desert experience.
Christmas is about the Incarnation. God became man, and dwelt among us. What a better way to prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ than to come to the end of ourselves? To offer up our broken plans, hopes, wants, and our messy lives?
We try, and try, and we come up short. It’s what we do because we’re human.
And with that painful acknowledgement, we make room for God in our lives.