“Everybody been to the bathroom?”
Brad and I were doing our last walk though of the house before we left for Augusta for the week. Everything seemed ready. The right lights were left on, others turned off. Thermostats set high. Doors locked.
The kids were waiting in the car, each having set up a camp of pillows, blankets, electronics, drinks and snacks, like we’d be living out of that vehicle for days. Brad and I looked at each other with a confirming nod and I walked out the door, leaving him to lock up.
But just before I stepped outside, I took one last look over my shoulder at a non-descript cardboard box sitting on the bench behind the dining room table. I sighed sadly and made my way to the car. Soon enough, we were off.
A closer glance at the box would have shown the words NATIVITY SCENE – VERY FRAGILE scrawled in Sharpie on top. It remained unopened, next to the boxes of unopened liquor left over from a Christmas party.
Sadly appropriate. All of the uncelebrated paraphernalia still in their respective boxes. A picture of my heart this Christmas season.
Setting up my nativity scene every year is a very sacred time for me. I hold each piece, each character and examine them lovingly before placing them in their spot (that I will inevitably move them from as I repeatedly rearrange to get it just right). It’s a worshipful time, a time when Jesus and I discuss His birth, what a nut He was for pulling that stunt, and my overwhelming gratefulness than He did.
I ask Him questions: Was it cold that night? Some people say You actually weren’t born in the winter, but closer to spring. Do You remember anything? Exactly how much of Your God-ness did you set aside? I know You could read the thoughts of men later in Your life. But at this point, Mary was still changing Your diapers. How did all that work?
He answers a few of my questions, but it’s not about the answers. It’s about the conversation. It’s taking about 15-20 minutes of just my Savior and me talking about the Great Invasion when He was born like any other baby (probably under less comfortable conditions than most babies) to begin the master plan of the Creator paying the ransom for the creation that sin took from Him generations before.
But this year, it just didn’t happen.
The Christmas tree got put up. I set up my Charlie Brown Christmas tree too. A few other knickknacks were set about here and there. But the nativity scene would get its own special time.
Except that it just never did.
So there my little baby Savior sits, safely wrapped in tissue paper, tucked away in a box, never to see the light of day this Christmas.
Boxes are all the rage these days.
Sydney got a subscription to Birch Box last year (new makeup shows up in a brightly patterned box every month). This year we’re switching to another kind, ipsy or something (whichever one Kylie Jenner does, God help us).
There’s Man Crates, full of, well, I’m not sure what. Manly stuff.
Bark Boxes have pet supplies, treats and toys.
Graze sends you wholesome and organic snacks to protect you from high fructose corn syrup and preservatives found in vending machines.
Shipt will just go buy all your groceries for you and deliver them to your doorstep.
There’s even Faith Box and Cause Box. Faith Box has many different themes: Adventure, Resurrection, Leadership, Gratitude, etc. Cause Box contains socially conscious products that help create jobs, provide meals/education/clean water to needy people around the world.
And don’t even get me started on Amazon Prime. Seriously, is there ANYTHING they can’t deliver to you in 24 hours or less? (The same-day delivery amazes and freaks me out at the same time.)
Precious things come in boxes. Engagement rings. Beautiful pieces of art. Family heirlooms. Gifts.
I owned sixteen place settings of fine china and crystal and twelve place settings of sterling silver flatware for 15 years before they were ever opened.
They were SAFE in their boxes, you know. Very fragile, very costly. Didn’t want to risk breaking them or damaging them.
But these days, I drink my Diet Coke out of a Waterford Crystal water goblet all the time. My Bible study girls come over and I insist that they pour their La Croix or sweet tea or Starbucks in them every week before we start. We all need to hold something beautiful on a regular basis.
And if nothing ever breaks, it means nothing was ever used. And then what was the point of it even existing? To take up space in a closet or cabinet somewhere?
I was thinking about my baby Jesus all wrapped up tightly in that box. At least He’s safe, I tell myself. He won’t get broken like that poor sheep a couple years ago (God rest his porcelain soul).
But then My King reminds me on no uncertain terms that He didn’t come to earth to stay safe. In fact, the whole purpose of His mission was to be broken. For me. For us.
Oh, how His mother’s heart must have battled against His Father’s will.
I will protect Him. I will keep Him safe. I know what the prophets said. I know what Simeon said that day in the temple. But You entrusted the Messiah to me. And I will protect Him with my life.
No, Mary. I selected you because of your devotion and to Me and My purposes. You will not protect our Son with your life. He will save your soul with His life. This plan was established long ago, with the unanimous agreement of the Trinity. It has always been so and nothing, not even your ferocious mother’s heart, can stop the plan that put into motion by His birth. My purposes will be fulfilled, to save My people for all eternity. Trust Me, My daughter. The suffering will be great, but the glory will be beyond anything you can imagine. Trust Me. Trust My love for my Son. Trust My love for you. And surrender Him back into My hands.
Jesus would not grow to be an earthly king, sitting safely on a throne, buffered by servants and bodyguards. His life would be under constant threat from His very first to His very last breath, fully exposed and vulnerable to the dangers of a broken world.
He did not fear brokenness. He actually pursued it. He sought out the broken people of society. The sick, the rejected, the unclean, the unacceptable, the underdogs. Their brokenness was an invitation for His healing and restoration.
And the world’s brokenness was a cry for help to its Creator for salvation and redemption. And if it meant His body broken for us, so be it and amen.
Jesus came to the broken, to ultimately BE broken. And by His brokenness, we are healed.
So fling open the boxes this Christmas. Expose the gifts to possible damage and destruction. Use them up, play hard and display them without fear.
And open wide your heart as well. You may feel it is safe buffered by distance and apathy. But it can still be broken. It can break, heal, beat, live and love over and over again. Offer it to the King who gave His very life for you.
My porcelain Baby Jesus figurine may be fragile, but my living Savior is not. He controls the moon and the tides, the sun and the rain. He knows the hearts and thoughts of all men and (spoiler alert) one day He will rule the world in (finally) perfect peace.
He doesn’t need my protection. He needs to be displayed in me, out of the box, into the world, His Spirit used hard and wildly.
And my heart isn’t a gift He will keep in a box for its own safety. He will use it, play hard with it, expose it to unspeakable pain and breathtaking beauty. And when it breaks, He will heal it. As many times as necessary.
It’s too late for my little nativity scene to be displayed this Christmas. But it’s not too late to open my heart wide, come ruin or rapture and let the living Christ explode through my life as we celebrate His birth.
Unbox the Spirit of Christ from your heart this Christmas and turn Him loose.
Joy to the world! The Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King!
