I don't want to miss Jesus this Christmas

 

Last night, after hubby had gone to bed, I sat in the livingroom enjoying the quiet. Glancing up at the mantle, my eyes fell on the baby Jesus from my nativity scene. It was a modest nativity, handcarved, one I'd purchased from Hobby Lobby a few years back, but I loved its simplicity. 

The baby Jesus seemed to be calling to me so I got up and went over to the mantle. Staring into the face of that tiny, carved babe, I could hear a faint whisper, "Be careful not to miss Me this year." 

Miss Jesus? How could I possibly do that? Christmas was all about Jesus and I loved celebrating His birth, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was possible to miss Jesus. With all the craziness we've been experiencing this year, our world most certainly could miss Jesus and in a big way. I didn't want that to happen in my family. 

This year had already been very different from years past because of Covid. I'd lost several dear friends to the disease and my youngest daughter had been hit hard by the virus not once but twice. On top of that, I'd lost my brother to cancer and I'd had several medical scares throughout the year. It had been a challenging year but I was determined we were going to get through it. 

Before Thanksgiving, I put up my Christmas tree. That's a really big deal. I've never done that before. I've always waited until after the Thanksgiving evening meal or even pushed it to the following day, but this year, I felt an urgency in my soul. I wanted to soak up every single minute of Christmas and I wanted it to last as long as possible. In fact, I even considered leaving my tree up through the end of January, just so I could see and experience it a little longer. 

The older I get, the more I realize how fleeting time is and how I must hold tightly to the seconds and minutes I have left. This year, I'm praying I don't miss Jesus. I can't. He's my everything.