I'm sitting beside a basket of koosh ball sheep and plastic coins. Stars cover the other side of my desk. Under them, there's a pile of books and papers, to-do lists, and really, God only knows what else.
At home, it's much the same. Well, at home, it's kind of worse. Laundry is mostly caught up but there's not a clean glass anywhere. There are a few pizza boxes. A few more rounds of pizza and I could build a college style coffee table out of them. The empty champagne bottle from New Year's midnight toast is there, too.
Really, it's the physical manifestation of the holiday hangover we all feel. We're done with parties. We'd like our pants to be a little looser. We're still finding glitter in all sorts of unusual places. Some of us, by the end of the season, have gone from Elf to Grinch. Right now, we'd like at least five years before we do it, again.
All of that's ok. Maybe now more than days ago I like the promise of God made flesh and dwelling among us. I like the promise of God choosing holiday hangover time as much as the glitter and mounds of food time. I like that there's no expectation that God can't handle the messy. I like that God actually chose the messiness.
God remains here--doing, creating, imagining--among us.
For that, I am very glad. Because truthfully, I'm not likely to do dishes tonight either.
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