While they were there, the time came for Mary to have her baby. She gave birth to her firstborn child, a son, wrapped him snugly, and laid him in a manger, 

Luke 2:6-7

It is going to be a quiet Christmas around Maul Hall. Too quiet for our taste. We miss our children, we miss our grandchildren, and (even though we love our community at Hudson Memorial Presbyterian) we miss our church. We were talking about it Friday evening, and both ended up with tears in our eyes.

Not a sense of loss or regret, more like remembering with gratitude. Counting our blessings. Reflecting on the enormity of the privilege, and the deep authenticity of our experiences, and the tremendous reach of all the love.

Anyway, that’s where we are. Feeling a little disconnected, feeling a long way from our children.

Maybe that’s why the photo of Max grabbed me. I had to go outside in the deep freeze and there he was at the window, evidently concerned enough to keep a close eye out.

It also looks as if Max is waiting for something. Probably his buddy Geoffrey or one of the other grandchildren.

I know what I’m waiting for:

I know what I’m waiting for. Regardless of the emotions, of missing the children, or of the sense of loss, I am waiting for the opportunity to place myself in front of the manger and to worship the newborn king.

I am waiting for the magic that is the angel chorus singing “Glory to God in the highest.” I am waiting to sit down with the magi and to talk with them about the great adventure of their pilgrimage to Bethlehem. I am waiting for Joseph to step out from the stable, place a hand on my shoulder, and say, “Welcome, brother.” And I am waiting for Mary to hug me close, kiss me on the cheek, and say, “Thanks for coming. We’re both so tired, would you mind holding the baby for a while…”

There in my arms, the Lord of Glory. Blessed day. O holy night. The most beautiful night of the year.

I pray – Rebekah and I both do – that your Christmas Eve brings you close to Jesus – DEREK