O Little Town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie. O little life of mine, how hard it is to be still. Twenty nine days until Christmas, so much to do. I feel like a victim of the calendar, the clock, the to-do list.
But am I really a victim? I have a choice, it's my decision, nobody else's. I know that what Jesus wants for Christmas, from me, from you during the 29 days left, is some time, some being still, behind a closed door, out under the stars, in the sanctuary, every day, more than once a day, time to be, to be quiet, to pray, to reflect.
I had best book it in right now, in ink, even in stone. I will be quiet, and prayerful, for ten minutes, or maybe thirty. In the morning; maybe when I get home; or turn the TV off in the evening.
Maybe I ask a friend, or somebody who's kin, to do it with me, not to chat but to be still together. That might give me not just good company, but some accountability.
I plan now: if someone asks me to do something during that time, I quite truthfully say I can't, I'm busy. Busy being not busy for a change. Like an old grandmother in a nursing home, what Jesus wants this Christmas is for you to visit, and just sit for a while.