Christmas Deconstruction

Last night I began deconstructing Christmas, taking ornaments off the tree, wrapping them carefully and trying to place them just perfectly, like puzzle pieces, into the storage containers. They never go back into those containers the same way. Never. 

Isn't that like the birth of Jesus, the Word made flesh? Doesn't that truth totally deconstruct all that we embraced in our logical minds? Doesn't the life Jesus lived totally flip upside down all which the world considers important? Doesn't His death and resurrection totally upend logic and reason? Doesn't His written Word, written by many, collected by many, given to many, fly in the face of worldly wisdom? And what of faith? And Truth? Hope? Grace and mercy? The more God has me deconstruct my long held thoughts and beliefs on such matters, the more solid, though smaller in size, the foundation upon which I stand becomes. The lines of black and white become more gray, shaded with grace, for the dogmatic hard lines just made for a blurred picture of God's love. But the gray, in a crazy paradoxical way, gives a crisp picture of His beauty and grace, His saving, unconditional, love-filled grace. 

So now that Christmas has been deconstructed, and the lights are gone and the space is big, how do I fill that daily, moment by moment, with God's light and love? Without the flamboyance of a tree and sparkling lights and ornaments and an angel announcing His birth, how do I live out and lean into this life with intentionality to make Jesus known? I think it is pretty simple. He's already showing me and growing me in many of these areas: Take time. Look people in the eye. Really listen. Be vulnerable, real, open. Love fiercely. Pray fervently. Walk faithfully. Forgive. Be teachable. Be aware. Give abundantly (of my time, energy, and resources). Dig deep into the Word, seeking Him above all else. Abide in Him. Immanuel, God with us, indeed.