Empty.

All wisdom is summed up in two words, wait and hope. –Emily Dickinson 

There it sat…tucked away in the corner as I folded and refolded shepherds’ robes and angel wings. The cold stung my hands just enough to remind me that Christmas was around the corner. The hustle and bustle kept me warm as the beautiful holiday songs kept sweet melodies in my head. I can still hear them now. And perhaps in all of that madness, the madness of a holiday no one seems to have enough time to prepare for, it could have been lost. Between the turn up the heater, and pour the hot chocolate, and address one more card, I could have missed it. But there it sat, humble, and almost hidden from the world. And, in between delivering ornaments, and putting on pageants, I saw it. 

It caught my eye, not for the fullness, or the promise, or the glory of the king it held. The manger caught my eye, and took my breath, because for the first time all season, I saw it was empty. The brown wood, carefully constructed, held nothing but pieces of straw. I glanced behind me to see baby Jesus on the chair so delicately wrapped. Only yesterday, He filled that manger. But today He did not, and I plan to keep it that way. That is until Christmas Eve on which the cloth costumes, full of handmade love and the shepherds’ staffs are wheeled across the parking lot for one more reenactment of the story of Christmas. 

It becomes so familiar, doesn’t it? It is this story of the gift of Christ. It is this moment that so evidentially was our everything; is our everything. Mary’s yes becomes so familiar. Joseph’s courage to stand by her side is so expected. And yes, at the end of the day, we know that the manger will be filled again, with the King of Glory, the baby Jesus. But maybe why the manger caught my eye is that I am so eager to just get to that moment. I am ready today, still a week away from Christmas to sing Away in a Manger, and know the gift of our Saviors’ birth. But, guess what…that’s not how it works. That manger has to sit there empty. And I have to tell you, that kills me. As I write I want to go pick up that baby doll wrapped so tightly in a white blanket and set it in the soft hay. But I won’t. I’ll leave it empty. 

And I’ll wait with hope. 

So many moments in my life, are like this moment, waiting for God to just pour out His love and grace on me. And I want so badly for the waiting to be over. I want to just have it all figured out. I want to tie up the loose ends, get the show on the road, and seal the deal. I want to finally know the end to this story God is writing for me. And then I see the empty manger. And my goodness, I am frozen in time. 

There's a story called, Five Minutes Peace. It's pages are worn and it's words almost memorized, as we read it over and over growing up. As kids who knew the chaos of many children, I think we thought the book was funny. The mom searched and searched for a quiet place to take refuge from her children. Attempt after attempt, failed. Her children kept finding her. And maybe that's how it is with the empty manger too. 

We search and wait to fill it. We long for that moment of peace. We wait for Christmas, when everything is as it should be and we see the quiet sight of a mother so lovingly holding her baby. And yes, God has given us that. And what a moment it is. But in so many ways He is already giving us the tiny moments that fill us. And it is not until we see it, the empty manger, that we remember we even need HIM. We think if we can just make it to that quiet moment by ourselves, or the end of that semester in math, or the moment the love of our life says he loves us too. We wait. And we hope.  And sure those moments are amazing, but the mom found love in her daughter's song on the clarinet, and her babies laugh. It's not what she imagined as peace, but it was what she needed just the same. 

The empty manger, it means so much. It means everything. It is who I am without the love of Christ, broken, hallow, and quite frankly boring. But, because I know the end of that story, the story of Christmas, that manger means even more. It holds the hope of a God who fulfills His promises in time. 

So as I read through the Gospel for Christmas Eve one more time, and sort all the costumes, I cling to that promise. He fills my heart just enough each day. And some days, days like Christmas, it overflows with His love. The manger may not be filled with the King of the World, my heart may not have fallen in love yet, I may not know the point of my struggles, or be healed from my hurts, or even know what God will do with this crazy beautiful life of mine come tomorrow, but my goodness, I hold onto hope. Because in the waiting there is beauty and a manger holds the promise of love the whole world hoping for.