It is that time of year again. I am getting older, and I must admit the magic is harder to see, but it is still there and it still touches me with cold crisp air lit by sparkling bulbs and pops of holly berry.
I am getting older, and I sometimes try too hard to intoxicate myself with decorations and shopping and chasing after the elusive Bing Crosby song I know must be playing on the radio somewhere. Yet the small surprises of Christmas are always blessing me with their unexpectedness, and why shouldn't this be the case if I am really cherishing Christmas for the sake of the baby born in Bethlehem long ago?
There is a house on the corner of Talmaga and Horsepen Creek and every year I am delighted to find that it is lit up yet again with bright white lights and huge inflatable characters bedecking the lawn. It makes me smile and relax, for it is something about Christmas I can only enjoy and never control, just like the lighted balls hanging from trees in some house I keep passing on the highway but couldn't really tell you how to get to. Much like these dazzling suprises that draw mine and my two-year-old's eyes with wonder that reflects back through his sweet little eyes and turns his mouth into a silent O, we received a small (yet rather sizeable) surprise in the mail today.
The baby now growing in me has my heart around its little finger, or rather its little ten toes. Those little feet and those little toes have a special condition called "Clubfoot", which basically means they are growing a bit funny and will have to be corrected with braces. For an expectant mother this only makes him/her more desirable, for I can't wait to hold my little broken baby. Those feet may look funny but they are precious to me, even more so because of their crookedness.
Reality is that this issue required an extra ultrasound about a month ago, an ultrasound that we just found out this week is costing us a pretty penny that will be untouched by our insurance company. It seemed odd to mind that, to resent spending so much money on a baby I love so much, and I almost wanted to dismiss the thought of it because I am just grateful this baby is coming at all. Nonetheless, being an adult means that Christmas magic is harder to find and that bills are an all too sure bet.
I checked the mail today and saw, among several boring looking envelopes, a large and thick card for Josh. It was his birthday the other day and I selfishly hoped it would be stuffed with something more than goodwill (the holidays are pricey, after all). I picked up the card after he had opened it and shook it doubtfully, nothing fell out. I went back to my chores and when Josh said, "Hey Hannah, listen to this," I certainly wasn't expecting the open letter he held from our insurance company to contain anything other than more financial frustration. So when he announced that we were getting a refund I was more than surprised, but not as much as I should have been. It turns out that due to recent politics we are receiving nearly the same amount from our insurance company that we just had to pay for the baby's ultrasound. My surprise faded into humble gratitude as soon as I heard the amount.
I love that little baby. I love that baby so much that I will move mountains and red tape, and adjusting your financial situation is not beyond Me. I love your baby with a fierceness that will surprise you.
God spoke through a skinny white envelope tonight, and even with our Christmas tree, garlands, holly berries, and lights strung around the house that little envelope held more of His promise than all of my decorating ever could.
