In the morning, I know I am going to regret staying up so late, but I just can’t help myself on Christmas Eve. I get enamored with the quiet house and lights on the tree and I find myself lost in a silence I all to often ignore. But in the stillness and the quiet, I am reminded that the beauty of this season is in contrast to the utter brutality that was manifested on the cross. The juxtaposition of the newborn babe with the agony of a crown of thorns and a blood-soaked brow. I am unworthy of such sacrifice. I am unworthy of such love. In the face of my own frailty and weakness, I will gladly cling to my Savior, and honor the day we celebrate his birth. May I always remember that my redemptive king didn’t come in a thunderous appearance, the earth did not tremble with his arrival, but in the stillness and quiet of a night long ago, my savior was born in a manger.

This evening I got to share a candlelight service with my sweet daughter. As I watched the light of the flame flicker across her face, my heart ached for a better world- an easier life to guide her through. But instead, I must trust that her Father above will journey alongside her, and may my daughter (and my sons) long to pursue Him as well.