A Holy Night

Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.

And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:6-7

I'm trying to be "careful for nothing," even in the face of unexpected disappointment.

Mr. Plainview won't be home for Christmas, and neither will James. The celebration is postponed until their return. The sudden change in plans will drain the joy right out of my spirit if I let it. But I won't.

I remember: disappointment is only an emotion, and denying emotion before the Lord is dishonest and does not allow me to face the root of the problem head on. What I do with the disappointment is the matter of importance here.

So what will I do with the disappointment?

I choose to present my burdens to God, grieve in Him, and then to rejoice for the blessings He's given us despite the things we want but cannot have.

Christmas Eve will not be about the anticipation of Santa's visit, or the joyful chaos of sleeping over at the aunt's and uncle's house. It won't be about trying to fall asleep so we can wake up to gifts and presents.

In life's trying and challenging way, circumstances have shifted around us so that our Christmas Eve this year will be one of soft, quiet togetherness. In the absence of the men of the house, the girls and I will settle our spirits into a Holy Night.

We didn't plan it this way. I find it strange, a little painful, but also wondrous and miraculous that God would answer my prayer in such an unexpected way. I prayed for a peaceful Christmas at home. I prayed for our hearts and minds to be turned toward Bethlehem on a night that has become so gripped and strangled by self-interests and commercialism.

I could have never guessed God would move His hand in this particular way. He knows I myself never would have chosen to quiet Christmas that much, but this is what He's purposed, so this is how we'll follow.

I envision a night by candlelight, singing soft songs, telling stories, reading about the birth of Jesus. Maybe when all the stars are out, we'll bundle up in warm clothes and cuddle together under thick blankets on the trampoline outside and think about how the stars we see above are as old as the earth, that these same stars were in the sky the night Jesus was born. Maybe we'll sing songs to him then, long after the rest of the families in the neighborhood have turned in.

There is an amount of grief we won't celebrate in our usual way, that we won't go to bed excited or wake up excited the way the rest of the world will. But I know there's a profound blessing in His plan, too. I intend to lead the girls to embrace the small, special gift God's hidden away for us under a thin layer of sadness.