No Room

There’s a fire at my slippered feet, and It’s a Wonderful Life on the TV. The Christmas tree that is now parched and droopy and standing on its last branch is lit beautifully in the corner. One more day– you got this Frasier Fir! My little family is all tucked in our house, though not under covers. The bigs are sort of grown and the baby who isn’t really a baby at 8 don’t bed down so early any more. The hubs sits on his throne (the living room one) and I imagine thinking how lucky he is that the days of Santa’s midnight toy shop are gone. No more screwdrivers and drills and curse words and super glue when all else fails anymore– praise be! Though a change, it’s ok. We aren’t sad. Drinking my (decaf) coffee from the Waffle House to go cup at my side, I can’t help but really feel Christmas.

Every year at Christmas since I can remember, I take a minute to survey the room the morning of– all the faces around me. For some reason, the thought always falls on me that all the same faces may not be present the next Christmas. “How morbid!” you might think; but it’s really not. It helps me be present and realize the best of the presents that morning aren’t wrapped in paper, but in skin. That one sits with me a bit different this year because it’s a reality. Though my Daddy left this earth December 21st of last year and our first Christmas without him was then, I don’t think I really felt it then like I do this year. I’ve lived an entire year without a Daddy here on earth, missing him every day. Christmas is just sort of the bow on top of a present I didn’t want. It looks pretty, but when it comes Christmas morning, untying that bow of emotions, the box is empty. And it will stay that way.

But because I believe, and I don’t mean in Santa this time, empty isn’t bad. It actually means hope. Everlasting hope. Hope that all will always be alright. Not easy, not perfect, not painless, but alright. Like the tomb was at Easter. Like the stable was for Mary. Empty.

How appropriate that it was a stable that was empty for the little baby to come. Hope entered the world in a very empty place. A very dirty place. A very unholy-ish place. A very animal-y place. Holy couldn’t come where everything was all full up–there wasn’t room. The star led the Magi to a baby in a feed bin, not a Sleep Inn. Can you even imagine? Our King came Holy lowly, in an empty place, and believe it or not, that makes me feel Christmas.

Tonight we ate our traditional Christmas Eve Waffle House meal. I took one of those Christmas pauses. The place was bustling! There was no room for us to sit at first, but five seats at the bar eventually opened. A most pleasant man tended to us, wiped the greasy table tops so that they were fit to serve, smile upon his face– even though he was working on Christmas Eve. His voice even had a charming lilt to it. The girls were buzzing around taking orders and if you closed your eyes and listened, it sounded like this, “drop two bacon, drop three hashbrowns, two eggs over easy…” and the line cooks were moving in such a rhythm that I was mesmerized. These people are working on Christmas Eve! For people like little ole me! How am I worthy enough to be served while they miss out on family time, or rest, or celebration on the most Holy night? Perhaps it was out of choice, out of necessity, out of obligation, but the lesson wasn’t lost on me. This is Christmas.

As we wrapped up our meal, I realized that I had just had one of the best meals I’ve ever had. No, it was not a Michelin Star restaurant meal, but a Christmas Star meal-even more precious and rare. I didn’t need a reservation, there was room made for me, I was served with a smile and a plate full-not some months long wait list to be served minuscule morsels upon fine china.

Guess what? You can have that, too.

Feeling empty? There’s hope, and plenty to fill you full.

Thank you God for the empty. I’ll take it smothered and covered, and if you will, please make it over easy this year.

Merry Christmas, y’all. All my love.