A Curious Christmas (Part 4)
The Nearness We Forget
As Christmas draws closer, the pace usually quickens.
Loose ends multiply.
Voices get louder.
Attention scatters.
Even anticipation
can feel noisy.
I keep catching myself
thinking in thresholds –
once this is finished,
after that’s done,
when we finally arrive.
As if meaning lives just
beyond the next thing.
But the Christmas story
doesn’t really work like that.
Nothing resolves neatly before it begins.
There’s no sense of arrival, only interruption.
God doesn’t wait for space to be made –
God arrives into what already is.
A crowded town.
A borrowed place.
A night like any other.
Sometimes I forget that.
I forget that nearness
doesn’t announce itself.
That presence isn’t dramatic.
That what we’re waiting for may
already be closer than we think.
The shepherds weren’t searching for holiness.
They were watching for danger.
Doing their jobs.
Staying awake.
And it’s there
in the ordinary act of staying
that the story opens.
This week, I’m resisting the urge to rush toward Christmas.
Trying instead to recognise where I already am.
To trust that nearness isn’t something to achieve,
but something to recognise.
That maybe the miracle isn’t
ahead of us, but alongside us.
Unassuming.
Unfinished.
Close enough to miss.
A small invitation
Before Christmas arrives, notice one moment where you’re tempted to rush past what’s in front of you.
Pause.
Stay a little longer than you planned. See what changes when you don’t hurry away.