You came from Heaven to earth . . .

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

Not a startling revelation; but one that has grasped me in a profound way. As a child, I was counting the days, hours, and minutes until the arrival of Christmas. The usual "first snow" in the Novembers of my Pennsylvania youth brought the realization that Christmas would soon be here.

Those days were literally a lifetime ago. Now twice as old as I was then, living at the opposite end of both the country and the climate scale, I can't depend on weather conditions to signal Christmas' impending arrival. Other events are vying for my attention. The "big countdown" now seems to focus on "how long until payday?" or "when is our next big church function?"

Here's what a friend of mine wrote as his Christmas prayer:

Dear Heavenly Father,

It's that time of year again, isn't it?
The time of year when we sometimes struggle to say "Oh wow! It's THAT TIME OF YEAR!!!!" with any excitement.

By now, the musicals are done, the cards are mailed, the parties are planned, the worship preparations have been set, and the planning for the new year is underway. So now, we actually have time to reflect on our own lives at this time of year.

And then it hits us.
It hits us about the family member who is struggling.
It hits us about the loved one whose seat will be empty this Christmas.
It hits us about our financial struggles.
It hits us about bad memories we associate with what should be a joyous occasion.
It hits us about employment (or lack thereof) situations.
It hits us about how this season drains us so quickly.
It hits us about recent work issues.

Lord, we answered Your call.
We strive so hard every day for you. In all this madness and surrounded by all these hurts in our lives, help us to dig.

And find the joys.
And to constantly be thankful for them.

Let there be peace where there is strife.
Let there be consolation where there is grief.
Let there be healing where there is pain.
Let there be light where there is darkness.
Let there be hope where there is despair.
Let there be joy where there is sadness.
Let there be You.

And thank You for letting us be Yours.

Thank You, Father.
Thank You for all that we have.
Thank You for all that we are.
Thank You for all that we are going to be.

And thank You for the Son.

See, it's not about the bank account, the number of presents under the tree, the presence or lack thereof of decorations, the number of dishes weighing down the banquet table, the family members (or lack thereof) around the room.

It’s all about smelly shepherds surrounding a musty manger in a tiny town. It’s about two tired travelers witnessing the birth of a baby boy. It’s about the miracle of seeing the tiny fingers of a newborn and realizing that those hands formed mountains and valleys and described the course of rivers with those very same miniature fingers. It’s realizing the voice that would summon the power of heaven and command the dead to raise back to life was the same voice gurgling and cooing at the sight, sound and smells of a feeding trough. It’s becoming fully aware that the eyes that watch over Israel, that “neither slumber nor sleep” are now closed in the fitful rest of an infant. It’s about God having kept His promise!

And this weekend has been set aside to commemorate that birth.

Forget running to the malls, the shops, the outlets, the airports and bus stations. Those wishing to be fully prepared for this holiday season should run right to the manger and find there reminders of what has been provided.

So, I’m off to prepare for Christmas. I’ll meet you at the manger.