Decking the Halls

The King is coming. The King is coming. 

Can you imagine if someone told you a king was coming to your house for dinner? Oh, the dust bunnies would quiver in their hiding places. What would you serve? Quail and pomegranate. What crimson carpet would you unfurl at your front steps? Movie star welcome. 

I LOVE decorating for Christmas. Each year, I delight in the puzzle to re-purpose all of my supplies into a new spectacle for the eyes. A visual feast. I start from scratch each year. I'll spend two hours ornamenting a garland that I will dismantle in 10 minutes come January. 

As I drove home last night in the early darkness, I thought about my decorations. The sugar-crusted faux fruit and iridescent balls. Magenta. Flame orange. Peacock green. Beauty revealed but once a year and I remembered that I was decorating for a king. A king who doesn't need grandeur, but infinitely deserving of it. The King. 

Blessed

The youth of the church gathered a few months ago to lead the worship service. It was the close of summer and nervous teens took turns climbing alter steps to offer up their testimonies about recent mission trips. They stood small behind the carved lectern. Hesitant, but committed. A trickling, then torrent, of verbs and adjectives poured forth of their experiences. Laughter bubbled from the audience at times and humbled silence followed at others. These students realized that through seeing others' pain and need, did they understand what it meant to be blessed in their own lives. 

The stories ended. Slowly, each teen navigated through the maze of dark pews. Acoustic guitar music surrounded them as each song line repeated, "We were blessed...We were blessed..." One after the other came forward again. Shoulders lined shoulders to stand on the alter and raise a handmade sign branded with that common word. Blessed. Blessed. Blessed. I was moved. Literally. I scrambled from my rear seat in the dark cavern sanctuary. My husband edged me on, "Go, Honey, go." I knew he felt it too. Front and center, I clicked photos from my camera phone. It was too powerful a moment not to capture.  

While school peers may have chosen music camp or sports camp, these rare few chose mission camp. Awkward, nervous, shy, bold, pimpled, beautiful.  To see the love of our Lord surge forth in a generation often labeled as adversary, we were blessed for having witnessed it. Blessed.