This boy is sick this week. Again.
It seems that these pesky fevers are no respecters of the holiday. As if I don’t have a million things I need to do and then a bazillion things on top of those things that I’d like to be doing. (Like baking pumpkin bread. I love you, sweet Pumpkin Bread. Am I ever going to get to enjoy your homemade deliciousness??)
At least Christian is extra cuddly when he’s sick. I’ll take that little bright spot.
It does make it especially hard to focus on why we celebrate this holiday. Finding time to enjoy Christ’s coming takes a hard shove to the back of the line when sick kids and shopping and school Christmas parties and finger foods for 16 get-togethers are all clamoring to the front.
And then there’s my ever-present selfishness. It is my constant companion, and all the more so when life tends toward the busy.
Oh, how I hate you, Selfishness. (My mom taught us growing up that “hate” is an ugly word. Instead, I should say, “Oh, how I don’t care for you, Selfishness.” Something about that doesn’t have quite the same gravitas, however…)
Selfishness is a tricky thing. I can call it out in others, but I often don’t recognize it in myself.
It likes to be in disguise, you see. Sometimes showing up as “Me Time,” which I absolutely deserve in large and frequent quantities. Or it looks a little like Inflexibility, which is a nasty way of insisting that my plans cannot and will not be changed because they are the best plans ever.
Or it accuses my husband of ignoring my needs, or not appreciating me or having it easier than I have it and still getting a paycheck and getting to leave this house for eight hours a day and not having a single co-worker who whines at him or is playing in the toilet when he is in the middle of stirring the sauce.
So I strongly don’t care you for, Selfishness.
You and pregnancy-related varicose veins.
I’ve been singing a song around the house lately. It doesn’t sound that great when I sing it, but Christian has picked up on the one-word chorus and belts it out regularly. Like Monday, in the grocery store.
He shouts it. A lot. Loudly.
I’m not sure a stranger could decipher what he’s saying, as C.J.-speak is not an exact science, but I know and it makes me happy every time.
That’s right, sweet boy. Hallelujah. God be praised.
When I think of Jesus—The One who thought up seasons, and pupils that expand and contract, and tiny seeds that grow trees, and veins that pulse with blood (even of the ugly varicose variety) and bodies that grow babies—when I think of him choosing to join us on this crooked earth because He loved us that much, I am quiet.
You are God.
You really did deserve better.
But you are not like me.
Hallelujah. You are not like me.
If nothing else, my constant selfishness serves as a lovely reminder that I am not as fantastic as I think I am. (How’s that for a happy thought to start the day?)
But, Jesus, who was far more fantastic than I will ever know or understand, had one focus in mind throughout his entire existence on this earth, from babyhood in a manger to manhood to death on the cross. And, unbelievably, the focus was not on him. No matter how much he deserved it. It was on God.
Everything he did, everything he said, every moment of his 33 years was spent on one goal: pointing his glory toward to the Father.
His humility exposes me for what I am. All disguises are dropped and the Truth is made known: I am selfish.
Jesus was (and is) not.
So despite how the world wants to paint him as merely a figure in history, or a good teacher or just a nice fella that told nice stories, Christian and I will still shout Hallelujah this Christmas season and far beyond it.
Because we worship a Savior who came, walked and died in selfless love. For us, and to the glory of God alone.
Even I can sing to that.
What are you doing this Christmas season to intentionally take the focus off of yourself and place it onto Jesus? I’m open to any and all suggestions. 🙂