With steady fingers, every last gift was carefully wrapped with bright bows gracing the top of each box. Laid beneath the sparkly tree, they are arranged just so with the most extravagant gift hidden at the back to be opened last.

The rain began to pour from the clouds with a greater fury than moments before, hitting the window pane leaving blurry streaks on the glass.

The air was warm and heavily saturated with the smells of cloves and molasses. Awkward looking gingerbread men were making their way into the hot oven covered in telltale signs that children's fingers had been hard at work.

While in the midst of a deep discussion over hot coffee, a mentor shared with my husband a sentiment that rooted itself into his soul.

As the congregation bowed their heads, the worship leader stood at the front of the stage to lead everyone in prayer. As he began lifting up eloquent praise, he tripped over a few of his words allowing a small laugh to escape his lips. But, though he stumbled, he finished his prayer and it was heartfelt and pure and truly glorified the one true King whom he serves. He allowed God to use his imperfect nature to cast a light upon Christ's perfect character.

The restaurant was congested with people, each table in close quarters to another. Oversized white plates dominated the surface of the undersized table. An abundance of utensils and various sized glasses claimed the much needed elbow room as we readied ourselves to dig into a small feast. My husband glanced around the table and offered to say a prayer for our meal.

The coffee shop was buzzing with people squished into booths and sharing seats; baristas catching quick breaths between white foam creations and the grinding of fresh beans.

Lines. Long, twisty, patience testing ones. Christmas seems to be full of them. I have come to learn through trial and error that the key to successful line waiting is to keep to yourself and pay attention. For if you turn your eyes for a mere moment, there may be someone who will notice and take it upon themselves to test your nerves.

We know there are times when Jesus asks of us to do hard things. And sometimes we must weather difficult seasons. These truths are most evident when we submit unto the authority of God's throne and are forged for His plans and purposes. Yes, of this we are always learning.

Joseph grabbed the little that he had and stuffed it into a simple, threadbare bedroll. He looked to Mary and urged her to layer Jesus with an extra muslin shirt to give his delicate skin warmth against the cool night air. Mary herself had wrapped an extra layer across her shoulders as she puttered about the room careful to remove any traces that a young child had been there.

It is difficult to flip through the television channels or surf the internet without being bombarded by images, pictures, and words detailing horrific circumstances filled with sadness. An even greater disturbance is how desensitized we have become to the images, yet our souls react with fear and anger.

As I turned my head to focus my attention upon a task I needed to finish, I uttered a few words heavenward. I find that this is often the posture of my prayers. Most often I catch myself talking aloud to Jesus attempting to carry a conversation though I know He is just sitting patiently listening to my rambling.

With steady hands, my husband set the last piece of the roof on top of the gingerbread house. It was mere minutes that had passed before the children were peppering him questions wanting to know if the icing was dry enough for decorating.

It was late into the morning and the risen sun radiated through the dirty windowpane. I ushered my husband into the family room and asked him to read scripture with me and pray over our day. I felt a nudging from the Spirit of God to lay our burdens before the cross and wait to hear heaven's reply.

Have you ever felt like heaven was silent? That the utterances that fall from your lips have somehow been lost in translation between the air and the unseen realms of the bright blue sky.

I filed out of the auditorium doors shuffling with the flow of traffic. By the time I reached the cluttered parking lot, the slew of parents began to disperse across the pavement. Just a few steps ahead of my own was a mother dressed in black from head to toe, each hand clutching the extended arm of a young child.

While reading an article of a brief but detailed interview telling the intimate story of one refugee family's attempts at survival, I heard the hopeless cry of a darkened heart laced within the written words.

I pulled open the cupboard door and clutched a shiny clean glass. Making my way over to the refrigerator, I placed the glass beneath the water dispenser firmly pushing against the lever. Crisp cool water began to pour in the cup.

As I circled the block, my eyes took in the spectacular view of home after home bedecked in bright twinkling lights. The glow emanated warmth, illuminating the dark night sky. Even the moon appeared to be overshadowed by their joyful presence.

There upon the dining room table lay my bible. Opened to the last place I read, my eyes slowly adjusted to the black inked words pressed upon the thin-skinned page. I picked it up clutching it to my chest while balancing a hot, freshly brewed coffee thinking it would be a shame to drop either.

Idling in line for the gas pump, I noticed a phrase scrolled across a sticker plastered upon the bumper of the vehicle a few feet ahead. The childlike script read, 'I owe, I owe, so off to work I go'.

The store was bright, heavily saturated by overhead lights and various trinkets that twinkled. And the store was crowded with an eclectic gathering of people in haphazard lines waiting to pay for their tightly clutched possessions. The hustle and bustle of the season was well underway.

As I turned to ascend the staircase, my eyes fell glanced at the figurines nestled upon the glossy dresser that stands in the front hall. There among the crowd of artistically carved figures sits a lowly babe swaddled in a mother's arms.

Christmas is considered the most magical time of the year. Through festive songs, food, and family traditions, we are encouraged to let our inner child shine as brightly as the Christmas star itself. And there was none who understood the simple joys of a child greater than the One who came to us as a child. God understood the beauty in such innocence.