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?

There was once a peasant girl bearing the most common of names, going about her ordinary day—who was seen. Noticed. Chosen. “You have found favor with God”, the angel said.

The eyes of heaven also find us here, in our ordinary days. 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 near, and we reach to touch the scepter of grace with trembling fingers.

Jesus was born to a simple girl. He lived in anonymity for most of his life, before sacrificing Himself to find me here 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 came for the outsiders. Impoverished shepherds. Wandering foreigners. A simple woodworker and his youthful bride. And it still calls to all who inhabit the margins. The desperate. The lonely. The ones with the humility to believe that wonder can fill the forlorn places that led to that moment outside the dark streets of Bethlehem. That continues to fill us with a life of ordained purpose and tender hope.

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.