A Christmas reflection

January is here: dreary and lifeless. Of course, it’s pretty hard to follow “the most wonderful time of the year”.

In two months, Wendy, my mother-in-law, will have been gone three years.

Wendy collected nativity sets and set them out all over the house. Some stayed out all year round; some only came out for Christmas. Several years ago, when she asked her daughters-in-law to each select one of her many sets, I was quickly drawn to the one with the most broken pieces. I think it was partly because I had three small children, and it stressed me out to think about keeping an unbroken set intact. Better to get something already damaged. This set also looked the most realistic to me. It didn’t look shiny. The figurines didn’t have dreamy looks in their eyes. The buildings looked rugged and culturally accurate. Mary’s hair wasn’t blonde and wavy, and her dress didn’t flow as if it were a nice robe. It was simple and plain.

Last year, my father-in-law gave me a different nativity set. It is large and goes outside in front of the house. It is far from simple and plain. I like it, too, though, because it reminds me of Wendy, and I can appreciate it for its beauty, even if it’s not realistic. But this year, I seriously thought about giving it away because I just didn’t feel like it suited me. After talking to my sister-in-law about it, though, I decided to  keep it for now.

I called someone from our church to help me display it properly. He brought over a large outdoor table and some saw horses to hold it up. Now it would be visible from the road in front of our house.

As Don was bringing the boxes down from the attic, he dropped Mary…  she broke in a couple of different places. At first, I didn’t notice, because the gashes were behind her. But as I placed her on the table, I saw the gaping holes. Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t believe she was already broken.

But then, oddly, I was comforted by her very brokenness.

Mary’s life broke when Gabriel came to talk to her. She was never “normal” again.

How alone she must have felt between the time Joseph knew she was pregnant but hadn’t yet heard from the angel about how it happened. She had to deliver in a manger, for crying out loud! She was sweaty, dirty, poor. Do you think a mid-wife came over to help when cries were heard? Or do you think Joseph did it all by himself?...  Oh yes, there was joy. But oh yes, Mary was broken.

How many times did she feel broken during Jesus’ life?

Did she break apart completely when he died on the cross? The very son who cost her so much in life must have cost her even more in death.

Yet when she came to the end of herself God was there.

Perhaps God chose her because she was willing to break and let Him shine through the brokenness. He had to choose someone willing to suffer. And through her suffering, she tasted joy unlike any that a human has ever experienced since the dawn of humanity—or ever would: having God for a son.

Me, well, I don’t feel quite that broken, to be honest. Not as broken as Mary was.

I watch movies like “The Hunger Games” and “Lord of the Rings”, and bravery almost seems like a different culture. We aren’t really required to be brave anymore.

I told Don one day that I hoped I would be willing to make huge sacrifices like what we see on screen. Would I be willing to suffer like Mary? Like Queen Esther? Would I be brave? Would I march to my death with my sword drawn like the soldiers who stormed the Normandy beaches?

I’ll never forget Don’s response to me: What about the small sacrifices? Those are the hard ones.

He’s right. We forget that we are broken, like Mary.

Some of us have given up big worldly dreams to be obedient to God.

Some of us have been asked to give up financial security.

Some of us have been asked to live with a family member that is difficult and robbing us of our childish happiness.

Some of us have been asked to raise strong willed children, and “go to battle” and resist giving in to them every day.

Some of us have to change poopy diapers even though we struggle with depression: We have to get up and keep going day after day even when it seems like our lives are ebbing away, because we want our children to live.

Some of us have been asked to turn the other cheek when we are falsely accused.

Some of us have to look in the mirror every single day and decide that we will resist whatever our sin struggle is.

Some of us have to raise our children without a spouse.

Yes, friends, we are broken, too. It just might look different than defeating a bloody beast on the battlefield. It takes courage to stand up to our friends and refuse to join in with gossip. It takes courage to cultivate our marriage and spend time thinking about what the other person wants, instead of ourselves. It takes courage to resist sinning in our anger. When we are exhausted, we keep going. When we are tired of serving at church and teaching Noah’s ark for the ninety-fifth time, we plug ahead. We persevere.

And yet, although broken, we still try to look pretty from the street. We keep our holes in the back so that people can’t see our brokenness. But let us not be ashamed, for it is through the brokenness that Jesus shines.

Maybe January’s not so bad after all. Maybe it’s time to think about our brokenness and to let God use it for good. I’m sitting here typing with a house full of boys. A dog is running up and down the hallway on my hard wood floors. Christmas is over. Just like yesterday when I started this post, as I look out my dining room window it is still gray outside, dull and rainy. Upstairs there is craziness, shouting and hollering. But we go on. We go on with God’s help. With His help, the boys upstairs will turn into faithful witnesses to His glory one day.

As Mary said, let us say this to the Lord as well: “Let everything you have said happen to me.” (Luke 1:38) Whatever my lot, Lord, whether noble or ordinary, may I do it for You. Come what may. Let’s go for broke.