Two children sleeping soundly under mounds of covers. The kitchen clock ticks away while my mug of coffee steams beside the couch. I've listened to scripture on this day of Christ's birth and wondered at how God could send Jesus to be away from his side for 33 years. My heart aches for my kids when they're gone for a few days. I revel when they're here. Inside, my heart is singing.
Christmas morning. How I thoroughly enjoyed it when my kids were little. I would often beat them out of bed and ready the breakfast table. Santa would leave their stockings bulging by their plates. I'd quietly turn on the tree, light the candles and above all else, start the coffee! Then, I would hear soft padding of slippers coming down the hall and the joy would begin.
My children are grown now, unmarried and here for Christmas. Both of them sang at our Christmas Eve services being light to thousands in the sanctuary. As I watched them on stage, I uttered a mother's prayer over and over. One that I'm sure is common for most of us when we see our kids serving the King. Nothing fancy or eloquent, but straight from my heart - "Thank You, Jesus. Thank You."
The candles are lit, the stockings wait at the table and I'm on my second mug. In a few minutes, I'll have to wake them up. The joy will begin. But for just a few seconds, if I close my eyes, I can still hear slippered feet padding down the hall.
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