Realizing Provision

I thought that I would be able to experience all the Christmasy feelings—the candle-lit, hopeful, peaceful ones—despite Covid and quarantine and quiet this year, because Christmas goes even deeper than family traditions and together-times.

If I’m honest, I had a lot of other feelings that did not exactly fit into hopeful and peaceful categories. There were times when the weight of all the questions and fears my conscience flung at me felt unbearable. And why, WHY couldn’t our internet work for just once in its life, when I really needed it to? If my family’s faces got stuck in one position on that wretched Zoom one more time, I would, I would. . . (It turns out, that what I would do is mute my mic and turn off my camera and cry.)

(There was a solution, and I ended up being able to enjoy the rest of the Zoom meeting with my family with minimal screen freezing and a happier countenance, in case anyone is wondering.)

There were times in these holidays when I tried hard to change my ugly feelings—to think and pray them to resolution and try to fit them back into hopeful and peaceful boxes. Mostly, it didn’t work.

But Jesus gave me something else. I was given a mind-picture of the manger scene. It wasn’t a very clear or detailed picture because I don’t have a good visual imagination, but in this fuzzy mind picture, there was a box under the manger. A box in which I was invited to place all my unresolved thoughts and feelings and guilt and fear. There was a place for them there, because Jesus did all the resolving when He came to be one of us and accomplish His work on this earth. He kept reminding me that I could go on with life because I know Who He is, even if there are a lot of other things I don’t know. He’s pretty wonderful that way.

And yes, while there were disappointing things about this Christmas, there were also beautiful things.

Back in March I wrote a blog post about some of my wishes and dreams. One item on the list read “I wish I had a tame chickadee that would let me hold it whenever I wanted to.” It wasn’t like that wish was a desire I’d had for my entire life. While I was writing, I was probably inspired in the moment by seeing a cute chickadee outside. After I wrote that wish, I basically forgot about it.

On Christmas Day, my parents and I went tromping through the woods at the back of our property because they wanted to show me the little cabin that our neighbor had built. When we left the house, my mind was focused on the unpleasantness of the cold wind blowing snow into my face and on trying to stay 2 meters away from my parents (because I was in quarantine), and the walk felt like it was going to be a long one.

It would have been different if I had known that this walk was going to involve chickadees. And not just your regular fly-of-the-mill chickadees, but real live practically TAME ones!

It might have been nice to have a little warning that we would be encountering chickadees. A little warning might have saved me the minor heart attack that I experienced when a puffy, black-capped bird came from nowhere and landed on my toque!

I was already a little on edge because, earlier on the walk, I had almost been taken out by a pileated woodpecker—which, on first fly-by, could be mistaken for a small wild turkey by someone who is not well-versed in bird species. (I did not know that woodpeckers come in size Large.) After I knew what it was, observing it took my breath away.

After I got over my initial shock of birds being so near, I saw a sign with the words “Welcome to Chickadee Junction.” I saw a small clearing containing a miniature log cabin and a line of bird feeders strung up in front of it. I decided that we had come upon the setting of an ideal childhood.

Chickadees happily fluttered from trees to feeders and back to trees. And then, after I got a small handful of birdseed and held my hand very still, they fluttered to and landed on MY VERY MITTEN.

I experienced sheer delight as they fluttered on and off my hand. It was a Christmas present straight off the wish list that I had forgotten I had made.

It was a different sort of Christmas this year, but not one without gifts, and not one where the Provider didn’t show up. He’s pretty wonderful that way.