It hasn’t snowed here yet. It’s been unseasonably warm. When Zoe and I walk to pick Jackson up from Kindergarten the sun warms us in ways unexpected for December. I’ve been able to say more yes to the playground than no.

But the radio sings of winter. It plays song after song of worship that sounds knee deep in snow. And sometimes we stand in the living room with arms up to the sun and let the words of a small town in Bethlehem wash over us.

“Fall on your knees
oh hear the angel voices”

I can hear it. The echoes still ringing through the sky from over two thousand years ago.

And when I stand in church with the music echoing through me, with the memory of my short temper from last night and the two boys this morning who got into a fight over who would give the donation box they’d filled to Ms. Dee, the baby who suffered a hair tourniquet and an allergic reaction to eggs in one week, and the moments of beauty in the midst of all this chaos that make me cry, I know there is a God who was a baby and understands me from the inside out.

Literally.

The weather, the bickering kids, the moments of love so profound for this family my insides ache from it.

Immanuel.

The God who moved into the neighborhood.

It’s OK to be bring the whole of who I am to Him.

Because He came a long way – on purpose – to meet me.

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