Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Dearest God,

Anticipation wells within me.  Christmas Eve is like no other night.  The gift always arrives early.  My eyes scan the horizon.  When, where, and how will it come?  All month long I think about the one night that never disappoints, the one night where true glory shines, the one night where I hear the baby cry and my heart is stirred down to my DNA, where you reside to warm the human heart.

There is so much noise in the sanctuary.  The people in front of us are talking and laughing.  The people behind us are noisy, sharing silly things.  We are in the sanctuary, the organist is playing Christmas music and I can't hear, I can't think.  I want to bolt, to run outside in the rain.  I want the quiet, I need the quiet, I need you, I say over and over again even as my husband tells me he wants to show me something in the bulletin.  NO! I say, I need Jesus.

Then I see her, the beautiful angel atop the Christmas tree.  She stands like a sentry guarding my heart, telling me to wait.  It will come, she says.  Wait and watch.  I fix my eyes on her.  I tell my heart to calm.  I make ready for the big event.  Throughout the service, I watch her almost like I expect her to move her wings and fly.  But she is silent too, urging me to trust, to hope, to anticipate.

Although I can hardly hear or see anything else in the service, I do know it is time for Holy Communion.  I am hungry so I rise to move to the center.  As soon as the row empties out and I am the last one standing at the end of the pew, I see Jesus right in front of me.  I recognize him when my heart nearly explodes, when tears stream down my face, and I reach out to Betty, an 84-year-old retired school bus assistant who is a member of our former church.  When she sees me her face changes, tears come to her eyes too and she drops her face into her hands.  I step over to her side forgetting we are right in the front of the sanctuary, stopping the lane from moving forward to the bread and wine.  I put my arms around her and kiss her lined cheek.  "You are my Christmas gift this night."  I say to her and we weep together.  We remember where we are and take the steps to the front to receive the table gifts.  We part because there is not enough room for two at the altar.  She steps to the end and I fall into place by the pastor.  As I kneel I see you bright and pure kneeling beside me.  The little girl in glasses has her hands pressed together hard in prayer.  Her head is bowed and I know she is deep in conversation with you.  Yes, I tell myself, this is Christmas.

Blessed God,
how can I
bless you
at the
deepest level
of my being?
How can
I say
thank you
for eternity's gift tonight?
How?

Love, Andrea