Houses throughout the country right now are filled with the sounds of children pattering down stairs and giggling with delight as they stare at the toys a fat man with some reindeer and a sleigh magically left for them last night. There are sounds of wrapping paper being ripped, of ohs and ahs, of thank yous, and of cheer.
But my house…well…my house is quiet.
There seems to be something inherently wrong about a quiet house on Christmas morning.
The rooms are not filled with people.
The kitchen is not busy with food preparations.
The sounds of the clacking of silverware on plates is nowhere to be heard.
It is simply quiet.
In Christmases past, the quiet house would go unnoticed because of the clatter in my head. While my house was quiet, my heart was not, yet it felt more empty than the rooms. The silence made my soul ache for life-long dreams unfulfilled.
A quiet house is not how I imagined my 39th Christmas on this earth.
There should be a husband.
There should be children.
There should be toys and presents piled high.
My living room should be cluttered with chunks of wrapping paper right now.
No. This is not how I envisioned my 39th Christmas because for the first time I am grateful for the quiet.
You see…I have what few people have this morning:
…time to think about its uniqueness,
…space to cherish its significance,
…a moment to ponder the holiness of this day.
I am reminded of:
…a faithful God;
…and a promise kept.
I am grateful to sit – not in a living room littered with clutter and clatter – but in the throne room of my King.
One day – God willing – my house will not be silent on this blessed day, but for now I will relish its stillness.
No. It is not how I imagined my 39th Christmas on this earth.
It is better.
Oh come, let us adore Him.