Andrea Sanborn

Under snow-frosted trees, with visible breath I ask it.

Perhaps you’ve asked it too.

Rinsing the dish I’ve rinsed a thousand times before, I wonder.

Maybe you’ve wondered too.

Do I matter? Am I seen?

A peasant girl bearing the most common of names, going about her most ordinary of days – she was seen. Noticed. Chosen. “You have found favor with God”, the angel said.

The eyes of heaven also find us here, in all of our daily ordinary. They see us in our comings and our goings, our working and our resting, their companionship constant whether we are rejoicing in hope or silently watching the darkness.

Life is a vapor. A wisp, a breath; warming, for a time, the souls around us. Holy breath mingles with ours, infusing life into our simple offerings, our stumbling words. God invites us to draw close, as we reach to touch the scepter of grace with trembling fingers.

Jesus was born to a simple girl, lived in humility and sacrificed Himself to find me at my kitchen sink; to find you where you are, meeting us in our obscurity and our wondering.

His coming feeds our moments, our chances, our determination to hold tightly our small candles as we raise them, flickering, against the inky tide.

Christmas declares that our souls have worth – the greatest worth – and that we have been seen. Noticed. Wanted. Loved.

A thrill of hope – the weary world rejoices. Yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. Let us fall on our knees and hear those angel voices on this, another ordinary, holy day.