Every year around this time, I have a temper tantrum.
I hope not every year, but for the sake of being honest I'll call it truth.
Shame wishes this time of year is easier. I wish I wasn't like other people.
Pride humbles me.
The truth is that fear wraps her ugly arms around me and holds me tightly.
For too long I've found comfort in the familiar grip of my fears.
Fear of failing follows me into the sacred of this season.
It becomes all about me when it shouldn't.
Finding the perfect gift and dealing with failed expectations of myself that he would like it, make me cringe for the gift-giving that is part of what we do.
So much of me wants to be a giver.
And yet the tangible isn't what it's all about.
Giving my raw, honest heart gives Him room to heal.
Giving my tender truths of *hope* gives Him room to reveal.
Longing for control, I grip everything tightly.
Fear stands in the shadows and tells me that resting in Him is irresponsible.
That I should do more and be more.
Each year, the chaos brings me to my knees.
I want to run and hide.
I want to be alone.
Yet, He calls me to live among others and live.
Rest is what I seek as I stand in wonder of His Story...
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