When our fourth child arrived at Christmastime nearly a decade ago, no one was more excited to welcome a 7-pound miracle into our family than our firstborn, Lukas. Though he loved his little sisters, 8-year-old Lukas had long yearned for a brother.
He’d wished for one each year when he extinguished his birthday candles with a breathy blast, and he’d plead every night when he closed the day in prayer. “Dear Jesus, can I PLEASE have a brother?”
After years of waiting and wishing, pleading and petitioning, God finally answered his prayer with a brown-haired bundle of joy just a week before those stockings on the mantle brimmed full.
As we settled into our new routine as a family of six, I wondered how I would manage to appease all the eager hands vying to hold the baby. Surely the proud big brother would try to trump his sisters’ rocking-chair time.
But I soon learned that the pace of my 8-year-old’s life didn’t lend itself to sitting and cuddling, swaying and snuggling. There were snow forts to build and Legos to assemble, spelling words to master and math facts to learn. Lukas left his little sisters to fight over “holding rights.” When the sun was shining he remained content to merely smile at his baby brother as he sped by in pursuit of his next activity.
But when the noise of the day grew hushed and the girls were tucked snug in their beds, when the toys were returned to the closet and the snow boots were lined on the rug, my firstborn would sidle up to the rocking chair where I sat with his wish-come-true. Then, before he climbed into his top bunk and pulled the covers to his chin, he’d ask, “Can I be holding the baby now?”
With a nod, I’d place our tiny bundle into his arms and watch as my eldest fixed his baby blues on his sleepy-eyed brother. Holding him. And beholding him.
One night as Lukas rocked the baby in wordless wonder, I asked him why he always waited until the day’s end to hold his brother.
“Mommy,” my son said with a sigh, “it’s just easier to be holding the baby when my feet are slowed down.”
Our “baby boy” won’t be snoozing through the holiday hoopla in his big brother’s arms this year. (Chances are, he’ll be challenging him to a backyard race or trying to wrestle him to the ground in the light of our twinkling tree). But even though I won’t be making room for a cradle beneath those evergreen boughs, I will still search for ways to make room for a manger in the middle of our Christmas mayhem.
Because at the heart of this sacred season is a Baby who is the answer to all of our prayers. John 1:14 describes it like this– “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us and we have seen His glory.” It’s amazing, isn’t it? God wrapped Heaven’s Hope in wrinkled skin and splintered wails and invited us to draw near to His gift of grace.
As we step into this busy holiday season, let’s be prayerful about how to fill our time. Let’s give ourselves (and our families) the gift of margin in the madness. Let’s leave room for curling up on the couch with our children and reading the Christmas story together, for lighting candles as we gather around the dinner table and talk about the Light of the World who pierced our darkness on a Christmas night long ago. Let’s leave space for playing with the nativity scene, for dancing in the kitchen to Christmas tunes, and for celebrating the wonder of that tiny baby who has changed our lives in a great big way.
Because more than parties and pageants, gleaming lights and tinseled trees, Christmas is an invitation to savor the gift of our stable-born Savior. Advent is a season for letting His boundless love meet the deepest longings of our hearts.
And if we want to spy His glory, we’d be wise to slacken our stride and still our souls.
’Cause according to the wisdom of an awe-struck 8-year-old, it’s just easier to “be-holding” the Baby when our feet are slowed down.
What is one thing to which you can say, “no,” this season in order to say “yes,” to time with Jesus?
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