I love this post. The words creep into your heart, under your skin, and shake you to the core. Christmas isn’t a shiny and fancy and palatable holiday – it’s a reminder of a humble, painful, commonplace day. And Hannah Brencher captures that perfectly. I hope her words bless you as much as they blessed me.
Happy Christmas Eve eve 🙂
I grew up finding delicacy in feeding troughs.
In stories where wise men lined up perfectly in a row and they didn’t emerge until “We Three Kings” began with the drums. Where bed sheets upon the heads of hungry children itching for candy canes. And Jesus, he was plastic. Pearly, perfect plastic.
My Christmas story was rigid. Scripted. Leaving no air for error. My Christmas story was Act 1 meets Act 2, communion, go home, open presents, and forget there ever was a crying soul in a manger that night.
Growing up and into a classical Christmas story that has been tied with the twine of “Christianity,” the tender cracks and imperfections exposed themselves as I got up closer. As I dug in deeper. As I questioned God and His realness. As I wondered, why would you ever come to save us in this way?
Mary, she was a judged woman…
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