The Fullness of the Hours
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The night before Christmas. It's a time when all should go quiet because much weariness has set in. The days of ceaseless preparation. The unending nights of mingling. The savory food, the rich desserts, the lavish abundance. For a very short season, we get transported from our cocoon of ordinary into a near mythical land of icicle lights and eggnog soaked soundtracks. In many ways, it feels like Christmas has already happened a thousand times, and yet the day still lies before us, mere hours from arriving.
I feel nostalgic as I think back to the old Christmas Eve's. The slowest day of the year, the hours passing by in double time. The colors feeling somehow brighter and more vibrant, the culmination of preparation almost ready to unfold its magic in a slow motion mayhem of gift unwrapping. I'm as ready for it to arrive as I am sad that it will be over as suddenly as the clock strikes midnight on the 25th.
My thoughts turn to the New Year, a calendar of days that have not been written. I think of the past years' burdens and blessings, wondering what the percentage between each will be in the coming months. A tiny chill of fear paints it's brush against the back side of my heart. I only know those things that are knowable, which is that God has appointed the hours of my days, and He has provided Himself to be the fullness of those hours. In the midst of those hours will come a grace that I hope is more fully known, along with a Fatherly love that is more joyously grasped. Tonight, I want to rejoice in quiet wonder. For hope will continue to rest upon my heart in the low hours.