Waiting for a savior

Last night Ryan and I were sitting by the Christmas tree, planning our Christmas breakfast and speculating on what we would be unwrapping on Christmas morning. A few times one of us would say, "How about we open just one present now?" I was even tempted to suggest we throw tradition out the window and open them all up in one joyful, sneaky act of spontaneity.

All through the evening, we kept tempting each other to open the gifts. As we did so I was continually reminded of the symbolic significance of this time of the year. Anticipation. Looking forward to the greatest gift of all. Waiting for a savior.

When I wait for Christmas morning to open my gifts, I am re-creating, microscopically, the way that the world was waiting desperately for the Messiah. I am remembering the captivity of the hearts of mankind and the unexpected way God chose to set us free.

My favorite Christmas carol is a song of waiting. A song in the darkness, before the savior comes. "O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear." Then Jesus came to us. He "divided history" and brought us hope.

It may seem silly of me to attach such strong spiritual meaning to the presents under the tree. After all, we're adults; we're not supposed to care about presents any more. We're supposed to wish for "peace on earth" and be blessed just to have our family and friends around us. It's true. I would be happy without presents. I am overjoyed to have my dear Ryan here with me for Christmas, and many friends to share the day with. But I won't lie, I am looking forward to opening a few gifts on Christmas morning, and I am thankful this year that those gifts are giving me new eyes to see the tiny baby who changed our world.