My favorite spot for hiding unwrapped Christmas presents is my closet.  I know it's not very innovative, but I'm all about convenience.  It's not very secretive either.  My kids know their presents are there so I just forbid them to look.  Plus to offer them an extra dose of self-control, I add that whatever is intentionally found will be returned. I think that works.

Then there is this pink tool box.

It started out three Christmases ago secretly tucked beneath a long rack of color-coordinated shirts.  We planned to fill it with pink tools appropriate for a little girl who loves to help her daddy.  But we ran out of time that year to purchase all the tools so we agreed to keep it tucked away until her birthday.  Her birthday came and passed without another thought to the pink tool box lurking in the dark corner of my closet.  

Around October that year, I couldn't find one shoe.  I started ransacking my closet floors searching for the match to my only pair of closed-toe black heels.  I found it.  I found the tool box too.  With Christmas approaching again, I made a mental note to add little pink tools to my shopping list.  My mental note was lost.

After my annual Christmas shopping trip with my mom and sister, I snuck my packages into the house and crept to my closet.  I'm not sure I needed such stealth; the kids knew where they were going.  I pushed a package under the shirts hanging next to my shoe rack and was answered with resistence. The pink tool box.  

I'd spent my Christmas budget now with no little pink tools to show for it, and I needed that hiding space for my newest purchases.  I pulled out the box and placed it in the open next to Lance's shoes.  After all, he had much more room on his shoe rack than I did.  I grabbed a blanket and draped it over the tool box.  It would have to stay there until after Christmas.  After that it could reclaim it's hiding spot until I was ready to gift it with some pretty pink tools for this year's birthday.

Lance complained about the swaddled obstruction near his shoes at first.  I explained it was temporary, and he obliged.  We began to not even notice it.  Six months later, I needed a blanket for a picnic.  The one covering the tool box seemed it would do.  I grabbed the covering, considered hiding the box somewhere else, then decided it had been there two years.  She had probably seen it anyway, and I was in a hurry.

This morning I went to retrieve the gifts hidden under my clothes that still have to be wrapped.  The pink tool box sitting out in the open next to Lance's shoes caught my eye.  I still haven't purchased any tools.  I'm not sure I ever will.  She's a preteen now and not so much into helping her daddy with little household projects anymore.

It struck me that I walk into my closet sometimes five times a day, and I don't even notice this obtrusive box anymore.  It has gone from being hidden in a secret place, to being covered, to finally being fully exposed, and now that I think of it, in my way.  Yet I somehow have ignored its existence.

I think sin can be like that. Secret unforgiveness gets covered by a little resentment until full out bitterness controls your thoughts.  Or that bad habit done in private becomes an addiction until one day you wake up and realize it's your greatest need.  Maybe it's harsh words that create a guarded distance that lead to a failed relationship.  

Things hidden in a secret place never stay secret for long!

By the way, anyone know a little girl who would like an empty pink tool box?

Promise for Today:
If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. 1 John 1:9

I should be doing a million other things right now.  At this very moment there are unwrapped presents hidden beneath the clothes in my closet.  I have a grocery list on my end table waiting for me to check it off as I fill my basket with ingredients for almost a dozen dishes I will make in the next week.  I noticed last night our brightly lit tree needed to be watered and the tiny needles that are beginning to fall to the ground need to be swept.  I also noticed that they are still green.  I suspect our tree was spray-painted to add some color.
 
For some reason, I'm feeling a little unmotivated.  Maybe it is because the flurry of activities that  characterize our life this time of year is starting to catch up with me.  Yes that could be part of it, but I know there is more.  I keep thinking about something.  I keep thinking about what Mary and Joseph were doing in the days, maybe weeks leading up to that first Christmas.  They were walking.  Ninety miles to be exact.
 
Can you imagine Mary?  Pregnant, tired, dirty.  
 
We talked about Christmas with our second and third graders this Sunday.  Lance showed them a picture of Mary and Jospeh's journey to Bethlehem.  Mary's simple dress was a dull white stained with dirt, a far cry from the clean pink or baby blue we often picture in nativity scenes.  I appreciate the accuracy.  I bet her ankles were swollen, too, and no doubt her back ached something fierce.
 
They walked through arid desert, mile after mile, day after day.  I wonder how many nights they spent camped in the cold?  I wonder how many quiet tears Mary shed as her very pregnant body begged her not to take another step?  I imagine I would have cried a few.
 
What's puzzling me this morning, the reason I'm in my pajamas in front of a computer screen and not in line at HEB, is why God chose to bring them from Nazareth to Bethlehem on such a difficult journey.  I know the facts of the story...Joseph was from Bethlehem and the governor had ordered a census.  Or even on a larger scale, it was prophesied that Jesus would be born in Bethlehem so it was God's plan that they travel there.  But why plan it that way?  Why require so much of Mary?
 
Maybe it's because Christmas is so much more than celebrating the night that King Jesus was born.  It's about how we recognize His Kingship those other 364 days a year, those days when the journey is long and the road is difficult.  

The last several days I have checked off a lot of important Christmas "to-do's" and prioritized those treasured Christmas traditions.  At times these things have been accomplished at the expense of having patience with my kids or allowing the older lady struggling to hold a 24-pack of diet coke in front of me in the marathon line at Wal-Mart.  This morning I realized that being on schedule to pull off another festive holiday for my family is not the same thing as being prepared for Christmas.

Being prepared for Christmas is so much more.  It's how you walk with Christ all year long.  It's being obedient when He says go, surrendering to His will no matter what it costs, allowing His strength to carry you when you feel you cannot take another step, trusting His precious promises to sustain you, and celebrating His Kingship, not just on Christmas but every single day.

God put someone on my heart this morning, someone who I know is hurting.  The kids and I are going to visit her, and the presents in my closet are going to be gifted in reused Christmas gift bags instead of the bright wrapping and glittery bows I had planned. Because today I'm going to prepare for Christmas!