Picking up the pieces

Christmas is perhaps the most anticipated holiday of the year. Children and adults alike look forward to this one festive season all year. In modern American culture, a fat man in a red suit ostensibly breaks into people's houses and gives them stuff after their children have sat upon his lap and told him their deepest covetous thoughts. On Christmas morning, children and adults alike rip open packages containing those deeply coveted items, or not, in which case a temper-tantrum ensues. We get together for parties with people we tolerate once a year, usually consuming more alcohol than is strictly recommended and hope that nobody does anything too horribly embarrassing.

But of course, Christmas is about none of these things. It's not the gifts, it's not the parties, it's not the man in a red suit with a thyroid problem. It's about the baby, wrapped in rags, lying in a feeding box. It's about the man he grew into, the man who lived a life of love and humility. It's about that same man who died an unjust death at the hands of people who had no right to have him put to death. Above all other things, it's about the fact that this man did not stay dead, but rose from the dead, forever taking its power. It's about the peace we can find if we put our faith in Him.

See, this year has been a rough one for me and my family, as have the last few. It's one of the things that drove me to start this devotional blog. It's the reason I chose the name for this page. I feel broken. I feel like I have nothing left.

And that's why God sent His Son. He knows we are broken. He knows we are lost, and He allows us to be filled with Him, but because we are broken, it spills out and we need to be filled again, and again, and again.

There's joy to be had, real joy...and that's what Christmas is about, but first we need to let Jesus Christ pick up the pieces.