[We are all broken. We are all bruised, a little weary. We have all seen more of the world but also less of it than we'd like. We talk about a lot of things, and then some things we don't. We are in love with each other. We are family. Without my family, there is no such thing as home. ]
I think about Jesus every day -- how His days must have burned inside Him. How strange it must have been for Him to walk the streets and go about His work with so few knowing of His true identity. Did He ever feel like He could "be Himself"? I think it is awfully queer how much I care about being known and accepted for who I am, and worry about being too peculiar and irrelevant, when Jesus is my Savior. What a peculiar person He was. What an unknown and unacceptable man He ended up being.
Oh, but He was nothing if not relevant. I am suddenly surprised by the vast good fortune of being accepted into His family.
6While he was still speaking to the people, behold, his mother and his brothers stood outside, asking to speak to him. 48But he replied to the man who told him, "Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?" 49And stretching out his hand toward his disciples, he said, "Here are my mother and my brothers! 50For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother." (Mat 12)I don't do that will so well (try EPIC FAIL!!), but thanks to my Brother, my Father accepts me. Asks me to be a little more peculiar.
I am so thankful for this season of waiting: contemplating His peculiar entrance into this weary, down-trodden world. This world where our Christmas Holiday hopes rarely come to life the way we'd envisioned.
For some really eloquent talk about the waiting of Christmas and how to redirect our holiday celebrations, check out Ann Voskamp's meditation here.