{breathing at Christmas}
I see you. In ways you don't even know. It's as if your lonely lives a little in me. December, with her merry bells and dolled up tinsel, is suffocating you. Breathing at Christmas is deliberate and hard earned. A decision you make in disgust and hurt each time you choose to exhale.
I watch you. Aimlessly inhabiting the body you possess. Your arms are heavy. Your head aches for a jubilance you won't find this year. No, not even the birth of our Savior can lift life into your person. You take kindly to the numbness that you only feel under your tree.
I hear you. The crackled frustrations and inward regrets. They sit there in my very ears. Pooled stagnate and lonely, I want to pray it all better. For you. Once upon a time for me. And yet, prayers feel empty for hope is no where near.
To the little girl hungry, I run for you. Outward tears stream like living water from my eyes. "Be with her, God. Give her nourishment. Find her with holy."
To the Mama missing her baby, I pound steady into the pavement for you. My strides ache for your little one gone. For the life no longer Earthly. For the arms you cannot hold this Christmas. And my chanting, "Oh sweet Jesus", finds a rigid & chaotic cadence with exhales for the breath I still own.
To the husband struggling, I move forward & uphill for you. I tread the resistance with an angry vigor. My whispers muster, "Help him, Lord. Give him the strength to change. Give him the fight for his family." I feel your very potential in my legs as I climb.
To little old woman in the post office, I stretch out my stride for you. For the joy I felt when you watched my boys hold the door open for you. For the Christmases come & gone in your life leaving you with a tiny tree and a handful of cards stamped to send to loved ones so far away. "Sweet Heavenly Father, wrap her in Your love."
Shallow breathes this season are real. Yes, our hope comes with this newborn king. But hope isn't always joy. And for those pressing onward this holiday season, I need you to know you are seen. And you are lifted up with a healing power that only my His pace can carry. For the hungry, the bereft, the broken & the lonely, I cry out, "Find them, Lord."Yes, I see you. In ways you don't even know.
To read all posts from the {bringing to Christmas} series, visit here.