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by Louise RousseauWe heard shrill shouts and the dull thud of coconuts hitting the wall. From granny's bedroom where my brother and I were supposed to be sleeping, we listened to the drunken brawl pitting my mother against my aunt. After my mom ducked the coconuts, my aunt pulled a knife on her. Mom retreated behind a locked door, but kept the stream of insults flowing.
Outside, thick snowflakes floated in the silent Christmas sky. "Peace on earth," the angels had sung 2,000 years ago. But I didn't believe them, lying there terrified, my head buried in a pillow.
Earlier that night, we had gone to church. My family knelt in silence, as if peace were almost possible. From the life-size manger scene, a porcelain baby Jesus beamed a serene, painted smile. But my mother's breath told me liquor already coursed through her veins. Baby Jesus' saintly smile wouldn't have stopped any of what took place that night. He was just a lifeless doll in his wooden manger.
And so it went, one dreadful Christmas after another. We had all the trappings in place: the toys, the turkey, the tree. But without fail, a few drinks too many fuelled the family feuds and ruined our Christmas.
Eventually, I moved far away from home, got married and had a daughter. Every year, I vowed we would have a simple celebration, the perfect holiday I never had as a child.
But even though liquor and violence no longer marred my Christmases, the seasonal bustle still disturbed the peace. On December 24, I found myself running from mall to mall, buying gifts people did not need, my frenzy hardly lulled by the Christmas carols seeping from the PA system. In January, I would still be scribbling greeting cards – purchased at a post-holiday sale – for those dear, distant friends and relatives.
"Oh, Not again!" I moaned whenever Christmas rolled around. So last year, I was delighted to discover I was going to have a baby in December. Here was the excuse to skip Christmas and dispense with the gifts, cards, and other seasonal exertions.
According to plan, my son Gabriel was born on December 13. But instead of warding off Christmas, as I had hoped, my little boy took me to the very heart of it.
It happened on Christmas Eve, when my family went to see the children's musical put on by our church.
In the darkness, Gabriel on my lap, I watched the familiar story unfold. "No room," the Bethlehem innkeeper told Mary and Joseph. The weary travellers found refuge in a stable, just in time for Mary to give birth to a boy – the Son of God.
Singing with exuberance, the children on stage bopped around Mary, who was cuddling a swaddled plastic doll. "I should have let her borrow my baby," I thought idly. And then, it dawned on me. Mary's son Jesus had been a baby boy just like the little guy in my arms.
Suddenly, baby Jesus came to life for me. Gone was the plastic doll. Gone were the porcelain Jesuses of my childhood. He was no longer a well-painted figure with a shining halo, a peach complexion and a maddening smile, but a real baby – soft, tiny, with a hazy gaze and wrinkled skin. A baby who needed to be nursed, diapered, rocked and kissed.
What an amazing thing! God had become human. He left the magnificence of heaven for a makeshift bed in a stable full of hay and manure. He made himself vulnerable so that all people would know God was not too great or too remote to be touched by human love.
As the play ended, I understood Christmas as an invitation from the baby Jesus to love Him from the depth of my flawed human heart, just like I loved my Gabriel.
The audience applauded and the lights came back on. People slowly left, but before I joined them, I gave Gabriel a happy hug.
My little guy with the angel's name. He helped me grasp the essence of Christmas and understand that the baby in the manger was real. That night, the peace I had always longed for filled my heart.
God wants to be our leverage in living, empowering us to feel better about ourselves, more excited about our future, more grateful for those we love and more enthusiastic about our faith.
If you are a believer in Jesus Christ, God has given you His Holy Spirit to help you live life according to His perfect plan. Why not pray this simple prayer and by faith invite Him to fill you with His Spirit:
Dear Father, I need you. I acknowledge that I have sinned against you by directing my own life. I thank you that You have forgiven my sins through Christ's death on the cross for me. I now invite Christ to again take His place on the throne of my life. Fill me with the Holy Spirit as You commanded me to be filled, and as You promised in Your Word that You would do if I asked in faith. I pray this in the name of Jesus. As an expression of my faith, I thank You for directing my life and for filling me with the Holy Spirit. Amen.
We look forward to hearing from you.
-from A Christmas Digest, © 1998, reprinted with permission.
