Christmas Eve

It’s here.  My buddies Cindy and Andy leave tomorrow to go pick up their sons Jacob and Jeremiah from Ethiopia.  While they are there, they will have their embassy appointment, meet with other adoptive parents, and even see about helping someone set up a daycare for young children in order to perhaps do some orphan prevention.  And Cindy has been planning--Getting childcare for the siblings staying home this time, taking stuff to give to the boys’ friends who will continue to wait for their families in Addis Ababa, packing to go somewhere less comfortable.  And they are excited.  Beyond excited, actually.  Is there a word that describes a person that is so excited about meeting a child they love so dearly and yearn for deeply to the point that every pore is seeping love and they just can’t sit still?  Because that’s how Cindy is. 

What struck me this morning as I prayed for them, is that what she is most excited about is not the trip to get them, but the homecoming.  She’s got their room all ready.  A potluck has been planned.  There are toys and books and clothes and friends just waiting for them to arrive.  She’s not so much excited about the journey to get them, but the life she’ll spend loving them thereafter.

Through Cindy and Andy’s adoption of their boys, I am seeing a tiny glimpse of what the FIRST Christmas Eve must’ve been like for God.  He must’ve been pacing heaven beside all three of Himselves, overbrimming with joy.  Perhaps the Holy Spirit was talking about the big band of angels He’s prepped to announce the Son’s arrival.  Perhaps the second person of the Trinity, whom we would come to know as Jesus, was getting used to the idea of wearing skin from now on.  Perhaps Jesus was smiling at the thought of the people He’d heal and lives He’d change, trying to avoid thinking about what was coming at the end of His incarnate stay.  But the Father?  I’m guessing, that like Cindy, He was looking forward to the homecoming. 

The incarnation was God going on His journey to retrieve His sons and daughters from this here orphanage called Earth.  It was dirty.  And smelly.  And sweaty.  There was weird food and strange bedfellows.   There was government red tape.  There was death. 

But God pressed on.  Looking forward to the incarnation and the being with his people in their country, yes.  For certain.  And doing all that He could to enable them to make their stay there cleaner, nicer, safer, more “Homelike” and less like an orphanage. But it would never be home.  The best He could make it would be Home-like.

But you'd better believe my room is ready.  He has probably spoken some wicked artwork onto the walls the likes that Etsy has never seen.  Maybe He's even hired that band of angels again.  But His true joy, and my true joy as His daughter, is the homecoming.  When I’ll see my room for the first time and I’ll grab my big brother Jesus’ hand and we’ll jump on the bed, then run outside and jump in puddles, then maybe have some SpongeBob Squarepants popsicles and dance to the band.  And we’ll laugh and dance and holler and sing till we’re dizzy.  And He’ll say to me, “Oh, my sweet daughter, how I’ve longed to hold you in my arms.  You’re home now.  You’re home.”