His red plaid flannel pajamas are snugged in retreat beneath his royal blue bathrobe. Sleep has long left his eyes as anticipation fills his full heart. He bounces around the house sliding in rooms void of carpet. He simply cannot wait.

He has held each gift a dozen times or more. He has shaken them silly. He has ideas dancing in his head of what is in each. Even the ones not belonging to him. He has learned that just because a tag does not bear his name, does not mean what is inside is not for him. He is smart, perhaps too smart.

He fought sleep the night before in hopes of hearing that sound upon the roof that he has known for some time was not truth. It does not matter. There is always hope, there is magic in the air, and the sparkle in his eyes reveals the joy of what every child hopes for this time of year.

Every other day children sleep till...late. Not on this morn. Elusive as the sleep was in coming, it has now departed, yet the sun has not risen. Impatiently he waits, counting the presents, counting the minutes, counting in ascending order, those who wake to join him. Three are up, two are...dormant...how can they sleep?

Activity intensifies near the bedroom door of those lazy, groggy slumberers. One rolls over and makes just enough noise to stir the deep hopes of the little man adorned for Christmas morn. Slowly, the door creaks open. Little eyes peek in.

In one jolting bound he thrusts himself to the bed, and begins to bounce between the figures of those he hopes to rouse.

Chisels of light pierce what was left of the night, chasing away any hope for further rest.

Recounting to be sure, five are now present. Let the joy overflow.

Shards of paper litter the floor. Held tightly in his hands being inspected with eyes-a-twinkling is the book he has pined for. Colored more brightly than mom and dad's, his is designed for young hearts.

Preciously, he cracks open the book. He peeks inside. The anticipation within, brimming in every possible way as he contemplates the stories he holds...the Truth he knows is inside.

He will spend the rest of his young life devouring it's contents, drawing closer to it's author. The Truth splashed on those thin pages wash over his thirsty mind.

He understands that the joy of Christmas is held within the Book. It spills into his heart and permeates his life. The full armor of God will soon replace the red plaid pajamas. The twinkle will never leave those penetrating eyes.

Only now, there is no need for the Book. What was held within now stands before him in the fullness of Glory. Wounded once for him, he prostrates himself in His presence. Out of habit, he cannot help himself. He must do it one more time. Slowly, he turns his head, his neck creaking, those eyes full of the same anticipation, he peeks at the One. The One who was born so many years ago, that gave rise to the season, and brought peace to mens hearts.

No longer is there need to wait.

Celebration in worship is on his heart, and the hearts of those who have gone before, that now kneel beside him...for as far as the eye can see.

This is what it is all about. Give this Christmas as the One gave. Give to love. Let His joy fill your hearts.


dad