The Peace of Christmas

**Author’s note–This was the Christmas that changed everything. Well, really, the whole holiday season of 2016 rerouted my life. Looking back, I am so thankful I chose to write it all down. With each read of every article I wrote, I am reminded of where I was.  

The song “No Longer Slaves” by Bethel Music was repeatedly played that December. The more I listened to it, the more I chose to believe I did not have to be a slave. Hope dawned on the horizon. However, the pain *gulp* the pain I was in from the tragedies and abuse still carries a sting. I remember those moments in vivid detail…The day after Thanksgiving, all hell broke loose in my world. Hanging on by a thread, gratitude and Christmas kept me alive. No matter what, there was hope. I clung to that hope like my life depended upon it because it genuinely did. Outside of that Hope, I wanted to die. I was sure it was my only way out.  

Himself had been out on the road for a while, which lessened the abuse, but he was due home right before Christmas. Christmas made him ugly angry; I took the brunt of said anger. It had been this way every Christmas since 2004, each one growing worse. Add my own trauma of losing my mom when she went into a coma on December 28, 2011. I absolutely hated Christmas. Until 2016 happened–Jesus showed up on my doorstep. He knocked, and I opened the door. When He enters a room, everything changes.  

The Peace of Christmas–December 21, 2016

The speed of the season roars by like Casey Jones and his trains, yet the Spirit begs me to hold still in His presence and savor His peace just a bit longer.  “Don’t let it end, Jesus, don’t let it end. Stretch the time for me; let your peace fall on me for a little while longer. I need Christmas.” I didn’t know I needed Christmas until right this very second.  

When I began the “Journey to Bethlehem,” I was expectant, absolutely. Still, I had no clue as to what I expected. I did not feel like taking this journey when I embarked. I felt like crawling under a rock or curling up in my cave and never coming out. Out of obedience, trudging, one foot in front of the next, I made the trek into Bethlehem. I met an angry innkeeper that I did not and will not (yet…wait until the chapter on forgiveness, then, maybe) write about. Along the path, I’ve been angry, down and out, at rock-bottom, frozen, and face-first on the carpet yelling at God and reminding Him that He is crazy, not me. I’ve experienced days where I sat in one spot the entire day and refused to move and cried so hard I made myself sick. One foot in front of the next, against my will, I drug on. Not one minute was I alone; not one second did He leave my side. What would I have done if it wasn’t for His love? 

My arrival in Bethlehem marks the close of the Advent season. I never made it past week one. I fixed myself on the thought, “the face of God.” I had no idea how deeply I desired to gaze into His wonderful face and see His glory. The image of Mary gazing intently into the eyes of her newborn son is eternally etched on my mind. Her eyes fixed on him while he studied hers in return, profoundly memorizing every little detail, every little freckle on her nose. He already knew her face; he had those freckles numbered. He was, after all, God. I can only imagine how long she stared into His eyes, pondering all that the Angels revealed before His arrival. The months before His birth were not easy on the young momma. Perhaps she reflected on the previous nine months–the harsh words spoken to her, those who loved her anyway, the ones who refused to believe, and those who did–all while she held the Christ child in her weary arms. How many times did her hand brush his silky cheek or touch his tiny baby nose? Did she trace the outline of the Savior’s lips while she sang God a lullaby?  

The scene will not leave my mind this Christmas. When I hear the word, I see Mary and Jesus alone, just the two of them. It’s only a little girl sitting on the ground holding the most precious being she has ever seen as they study one another’s faces. Her gaze is fixed so tightly upon him that the things of this earth grow strangely dim; the rest of the world no longer exists. The cold does not sting her skin and the barn no longer smells.

This year for Christmas, I want the things of earth to grow strangely dim. I need to look full into His wonderful face. The image of Christmas must stay close to my heart all year long. I want to see God.

It’s been a long several weeks since Thanksgiving. I do not want to relive many of them, but I will not trade my journey to Bethlehem for anything. I did not participate in gift-giving or festive parties. I did find a tiny two-foot tree with six ornaments and one string of garland lights to mark the coming of Christ. It’s a far cry from where I began.  

The ice in my heart melts the further I press into the stable. The closer I get to the manger, the less this world truly matters. As I begin to peer over the edge of this baby’s bed and see his glorified beauty, I know it’s all about Jesus.  

Stop and see him. Become like Mary this Christmas and memorize the face of God. He is our Immanuel, God with us; not just God thinks about us, God above us, or even God made us, but God with us. God walked this road we walk. Look full into His wonderful face with me, and let the things of earth grow strangely dim.