Satisfied

The car pulls into the driveway;
all is dark.
A scuffle, boot shutting, house unlocked,
lights on.
 
The spiky swags with their ribbons
rustle
as boys push past on the stairs.
Bags are carried in,
the kettle filled.
 
And here I am, happy to let my heart be at rest –
a scented candle, Christmas lights,
laughter and fuss,
and somewhere the bounce of a
forbidden football –
as if the point of it all was this.
 
And I pull at thoughts that gather
of another mother
chosen
for a different moment.
Not together with her loved ones but separated;
not in the coziness of a warm home but a field;
not surrounded by friends but rejected;
a reputation in tatters.
The added pain of childbirth in a town that was so full that only stars and sheep were witness to a miracle.
 
The greatest gift that had ever been given,
not under a tree, but in a field,
not wrapped in glorious array, but a blanket,
not to be discarded within a few days, but given for our eternity.
 
I see the heart of a mother
who was satisfied with pain and suffering,
difficulty and loss,
because she treasured something far greater
than ease and comfort.
She knew the meaning of time given,
not to be served, but to serve,
not to spend, but to be spent,
not to demand, but to ponder and obey.
 
I pull a blanket close
and consider
the comfort of home,
the soft sound of cars sloshing past the window,
the glow of the lights,
and grieve for my hard heart that
replaced thoughts of the Child, the meaning, the season, with the things that should point us to Him.
 
And thank Him that
the sacrifices given
all those years ago,
were a far greater gift than I could ever prepare,
for a far greater reason than a quiet week of food and comfort,
my arms to be filled with people that I am to serve,
and I determine to give the most precious thing I could give
to my family this Christmas:
a greater love for my Saviour,
and a heart satisfied with Him.