Missing the point

Oh, that I could draw! As I read Luke 2 tonight, I had a vision of the birthplace of Jesus and I wish I could draw it~ it would be my Christmas card for the rest of my life. Art through the centuries paints a picture of the birthplace of Jesus that misses the whole point. It was not a pastoral scene as pictured in this Renaissance painting.
It was not even a quaint, humble stable as pictured in the cards of greeting we send to one another as we celebrate His birth. It was most likely a cave with a shallow trough carved out of the rough rock~ dark, dank, dirty. Cold. Comfortless. Not unlike the cement floor on which this little one of Mozambique rests. My little Lucas . . .




If we really pay attention, this dark, dank cave in which Jesus was born was a picture for us of the world without Him. Jesus came into this weary world to bring His light into the darkest, dirtiest places we can imagine~ It is this light alone that can save us from the sin we are so bent upon.
Because of our incredible lack of imagination, we miss Him continually. When he came into the world in such humility, His chosen people missed him because they expected something different~ a militant savior who would deliver them from political oppression. What He offered was freedom from the oppression from sin and eternal life in His Kingdom. We are so short sighted~ still~ with all we have, with all we know about the life and actions of Jesus. We still don't really want what he has to offer.
What do we want from Jesus? We want God to provide what we think we need in this life. He actually gives us everything we "need". As a result, we miss Him. We think we need things: money, jobs, homes . . . (the list is longer than I dare attempt), and when He doesn't supply those things in the way we expect, we miss Him. If we look at what He actually does provide for us, we will realize what we really need and fall on our faces in humble gratitude and awe of His provision.

Unplugged

Deep in the night after the heavy snow, there was a sound much like lightening then a boom somewhat akin to thunder. Again,~and yet again. As I lay there, I realized it was the sound of branches breaking under the weight of the snow and falling into the deepening snow beneath. I listened. Once again, the trees were being pruned. The weak branches that survived the winds of November were now yielding to the sheer weight of winter.
With the falling branches, came downed power lines and life as we knew it ended~ suspended for a week. Powerless. We gathered ourselves as a family and met the challenge with creativity and humor. We are fortunate to have a wood stove and a generator; we are even more fortunate to have a sense of life unplugged as not such a bad thing. We worked harder for the ordinary things so long taken for granted. We melted snow for water to heat in large pots on the wood stove for bathing; redefining showering together as my husband poured the steaming water over my soapy head and I returned the favor when it was his turn. Shivering, laughing, enjoying the simplest of pleasures.
I felt a twinge of regret as our power was restored this evening. For a week, we lived as a family totally connected. Unplugged from TV, computers, radios ~ Needing one another for amusement. Enjoying one another through the storm. The real challenge is to find this intimacy without the snow, without the loss of electricity. Are we up to it?