Tonight we went to the Christmas Eve service at my home church. There's something warming to the heart about walking into Grace Bible every year and seeing everyone with their families. Even back in high school, at the peak of teenage angst, Christmas Eve marked peace amongst us all, as we take a moment to remember the birth of Christ.
This year, my family is in full force. We file into our seats with Aunt Shelley, Uncle Randy and our cousins, Mark and Natalie. It reminisces of days back at the Baptist church where the Coopers (my dad has three sisters and a brother) took up the entire second row pew on the left side. On the stage, Mom sits at the piano and Dad picks up his guitar. Joined by close to a thousand others, we stand to sing.
Being at home, in and of itself, already makes me a little weepy. Because it's Christmas, we sing a bunch of old hymn-style songs about the coming of Jesus. Next to me, my blood, and seated all throughout the sanctuary, its an impromptu high school reunion--so many people that I have loved and shared with all in the same room for the same purpose. Naturally, I'm beaming and the words come belting from deep within me as I sing of the glories of my God. It's home and it's good.
My eyes wander from the screens projecting words on either side of the baptistry to a young woman signing a translation to someone on the front row. It is not unusual in a church of our size to have someone available up front to translate the sermon into sign language. But I guess I just had never paid close attention to them growing up--they are interesting to watch, as you see which signs mimic which words, but mostly they have served as no more than a distraction when the sermon got too deep or uninteresting for my childhood attention span. What stood out to me tonight though, and what got me more choked up than when they called all the little children down to the front for the children's service, was watching the woman that the translator signed for, also signing the same words that I was singing with my voice. Watching her praise God in the language she understood reminded me of how big He actually is--He transcends language barriers and disabilities, and receives glory from an honest heart, no matter the medium. For the rest of the worship set, I mouthed the words, so overcome with joy and awe at pondering my Creator that my vocal chords were inadequate to communicate such a powerful outpouring of my soul.
My sister refers to December 23rd as "Christmas Adam." Adam came before Eve, she explains, and so it's only logical to call the day before Christmas Eve by his name. To the rest of the world, Eve is the anticipation of the day to come, and in tonight, there are some elements of looking forward to the presents we will share and wonderful food we will serve tomorrow. But thanks to my my kooky sister, Eve also holds the foretelling of a beginning, the mother of all that is living, who points to the mother who bore a child that would one day be called the Living Water, a Living Sacrifice, Holy, Blameless...the Christ.
In five minutes, it will officially be Christmas here, and I can think of nothing more wonderful to do now than bundle myself up and go outside to gaze into the stars that long ago witnessed and told of God's humble birth in a manger in Bethlehem. The Creator, entering creation, so that He might restore the relationship we lost with Adam and Eve and sin.
Tonight, I remember He is beautiful.
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