I’m constantly being reminded that life is not all about “work”. Those who know me - or even met me - will very easily notice that I care about my job immensely. I love working for Jamberry and with everything it’s done for me, the long days, weekends and yes, even holidays, while sometimes difficult, are generally something I’m happy to do, when I think of the big picture. This dedication to the job, however, leaves little time for the “extras”, for my weekends are very coveted and generally dedicated to laundry, cleaning my already clean house (I mean, if we’re being honest here), running errands, or truth be told, giving myself a little “me” time (e.g. nap time). With that in mind, as the end of 2015 is drawing nearer, I’ve been thinking about my 2016 goals and one of them is to start writing again. Oh, how I love to write and I’m not referencing anything to do with emails, action plans, briefings, coachings, reminders, and most especially anything to do with nails wraps! One of the ways I wanted to kick off my resurrection of writing was sharing my love for Christmas.
I love everything about Christmas time. About 6 pm Christmas Eve, I become about 8 years old again and start dancing around the kitchen with anticipation of what the next 12 or so hours will bring. I love waking up to stockings filled with goodies - and to this day, will argue with anyone who disagrees that my stocking is not the cutest in the whole wide world. I love seeing presents wrapped under the tree. I love drinking Southern Comfort egg nog; or “Christmas Milk” as my mom calls it. I love Christmas decorations. I love the same 10 holiday songs merely sung in a different tune by just about every artist on the planet. I love Christmas dinner - it is truly my most favorite meal of the entire year. I love Christmas movies. I love Christmas lights, especially at night when I can see the way they look against pretty ornaments, the wall, or, if I’m lucky, by a fire place. I love getting frozen into a popsicle in order to visit the Christmas lights at Temple Square. I love the generosity and focus of service during a month where so many others focus solely on receiving. I love the story of the birth of the Savior - the prophesy given from Samuel years before, the fulfillment of such prophesy in both the Book of Mormon and the Bible. I love to read about Mary and Joseph - while it may not be written down, I’ve always had the sense that Mary and Joseph were exceptionally mindful and loving of the other. I delight in the humility and simplicity of that Christmas night, where the Savior of the World came to earth, not as a mighty being, but as a small babe, wrapped in swaddling clothes. It is this baby I owe my whole heart and my whole life. Instead of dedicating the next few minutes to “Frosty the Snowman” or “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, I wish to share my love for that sweet baby born on a Christmas night years ago.
I love babies. I love kissing their soft, chubby cheeks. I love their innocence. I love that as I hold them close and look into their beautiful eyes, I am seeing a little bit of Heaven radiating back at me. Still, I am not naive enough to think that that angelic child could ever “save” me. Babies need me to feed them, to change their diapers, to rock them to sleep, to hold them when they’re scared, to talk to them when they’re happy and ultimately, love them unconditionally so they know they are wanted and protected and adored. At Christmas time, I celebrate the birth of the Savior. I am celebrating the birth of a baby, who at one time, needed the exact same things that I needed. What a beautiful, humbling thought this is for me! A man, born to save the souls of humankind, did not come to Earth with a reception of angels and lights and trumpets, but with the accompaniment of a single, new star, shining above a stable no one wanted, in a manager fit for much less than a King...to be just like me.
I bear testimony of that sweet baby; for He grew up and lived a perfect life. He was the only person in world history who ever could or ever will. I believe Him to be the Man of Miracles, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. I believe He was born for each of us; He was born for me. And if it were only me, I believe He still would have done everything He did for each of us. He is our Savior. He is our advocate. He is our friend. With Christmas time in full swing, it's allowed me to stop and think what all of this really means for me personally. There is a quote by Chieko Okazaski (love her!) whose put her idea of this into much better words than me:
“We know that on some level, Jesus experienced the totality of mortal existence. It’s our faith that He experienced everything - absolutely everything. That means Jesus knows what it felt like when your mother died of cancer - how it was for your mother, how it still is for you. He knows what it felt like to lose the student body election. He knows that moment when the brakes locked and the car started to skid. He experienced that slave ship sailing from Ghana to Virginia. He experienced napalm in Vietnam. He knows about drug addiction and alcoholism...There is nothing you have experienced as a woman that He does not also know and recognize. On a profound level, He understands about pregnancy and giving birth. He knows about PMS and cramps and menopause. He understands about rape and infertility and abortion…His last recorded words to His disciples were, ‘And lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world’ (Matt. 28:20). What does it mean? It means He understands a mother’s pain when her 5 year old leaves for kindergarten, when a bully picks on your fifth grader, when your daughter calls to say the new baby has Down’s Syndrome. He knows a mother’s rage when a trusted babysitter sexually abuses your 2 year old; when someone gives your 13 year old drugs; when someone seduces your 17 year old. He knows the pain you live with when you come home to a quiet apartment, when you hear your former husband and his new wife were sealed in the temple last week; when your 50th wedding anniversary rolls around and your husband has been dead for two years. He knows all that. He’s been there. He’s been lower than all that.”
Lighten Up, pg. 174-175
I was first given this quote when I was a young teenager attending my first EFY. It’s always brought me tears as I’ve substituted Chieko’s descriptions for my own. I would encourage anyone to take a moment and think about "what it means" for YOU. I want to share some of the personal things that that sweet baby we celebrate this time of year experienced and ultimately overcame just for me.
For me, it means Jesus knows what it felt like lying in a hospital room and being told my life was forever changed by an auto-immune disease, brought on by my own choices.
It means Jesus knows what it felt like to have to retake Statistics not once, not twice, but THREE times before I could pass. I am my mother's daughter and we do not do math.
It means Jesus knows what it felt like to feel like nothing; to feel unworthy of love and respect and thereby allow others to abuse and manipulate. This also means He knows what’s it’s like to learn and grow and overcome what once I never felt I could escape. He knows how it feels to feel free, to feel whole, to feel forgiven, to feel peace.
It means He understands the pain of listening to so many speak of the very thing I want most; a lover just for me and a family just for "us". It means He understands the heartache of cooking dinner, eating dinner, and cleaning up dinner alone and talking out loud just to fill the silence of an empty home (as cute as that home might be). It means He understands how it feels when you really think you’re going to be alone because you feel like no one could ever love the real you.
I share these vulnerable moments to hopefully exercise the point of the same conclusion I have reached over and over again: we have a brilliant, compassionate, merciful, forgiving, loyal, perfect Brother, who follows in the footsteps of His and our Heavenly Father. It was Heavenly Father, who in His wisdom, crafted a Plan of Happiness which included a very significant birth, on a very simple night thousands of years ago. This is what I celebrate this Christmas season. I celebrate the birth of my Savior, my eternal Brother who knew what I would have to endure and overcome and decided I was worth it. I truly stand all amazed at the love Christ offers me.
May we all remember the true reason of the season - not the presents, not the lights, not the “stringy potatoes” (though, I would still be very heartbroken if any were missing) - but the Savior’s love for each of us, for each of you. His birth means our safe passage home. His birth means there is nothing that can happen to us that He cannot comprehend and has not already overcome.
I am grateful for that small baby, for He did and does save me every day. I am grateful for His humble birth. I am grateful for His triumph life. I eagerly await when I can kneel before Him again and sing "Hallelujah" to His name.
Merry Christmas!
