Sailing.

This steady rocking is safety to me.  It’s organic and lovely,  like the peace and assurance of sitting on Grandma’s lap under a sweater in a rocking chair,  or comforting a child in your arms, swaying gently. 

The damp salt air quenches my need to breathe.

Breathe.

It’s been a day of planes, trains, and automobiles, as I make my annual trek home for the holidays.  My heart’s home is Ottawa- but as I sit on the deck of the “Spirit of Vancouver Island,” mesmerized, praising God who has created such indescribable beauty… I think my body’s home will always be on the Coast.  I left my apartment in the dark, bussed to the airport, watching the sun rise over Ottawa.  I boarded a plane and was lulled to sleep, waking to see glimpses of golden sun and patchwork prairies and majestic mountains.  Bags in tow, I found the sky train, and watched the Pacific Ocean meet the city of Vancouver and both be united under a lovely clear sky.  And now I’m outside on the ferry, the photographers and excited kids have moved into the warmth of the indoors, and I’m alone on the deck, watching.

It’s kind of blue for Christmas: blue sky, blue ocean, blue mountains.. even the trees which I’m slowly inching away from seem to have a blue tint, but it is the happiest kind of blue -  like giggling, sticking your blue tongue out after a blue freezie or blue lollipop, or possibly even blue pop rocks, if you like those.

I don’t know what to expect when I get off the boat.  It doesn’t feel like the Christmas I’m used to.  I ‘m not particularly in the mood for Christmas carols, I’m not super excited to watch Christmas Movies.  The lights are lovely…but I just like shiny things.  As I sit here, fingers cold, heart warm, I’m realizing that maybe this isn’t the Christmas I am used to or dream of – even Ottawa has no snow, I haven’t gone caroling, I’m not wrapping gifts or baking obscene amount of delicious sweets…though I do have some in my bag, waiting to share with my family.  But when did the world become so wrapped up in all those things?

Jesus was carried in Mary’s womb as she travelled with Joseph from their home to the home of his fathers.  He was born outside – and the stable probably didn’t smell like cinnamon or mandarin oranges or savoury turkey.  The wise men followed a shining star to bring him their gifts.  Shepherds were in the fields. 

I look around me – why is Christmas to me a comfortable, warm, electric home? Why isn’t it in the smell of the forest? Why isn’t it in staring at billions of stars, shining from farther away than I can imagine, in a way that no bulb or picture or human creation of any sort can possibly represent. 

I want to discover CHRIST in the journey from home to home.  I want to celebrate CHRIST in the most intimate, natural way possible – and maybe that isn’t in the traditions that I have cherished for so long.  Maybe I need to learn to step outside of symbolism that I love, and the rituals that I’ve explained, and the false depth that I’ve tried to create but can’t understand -  and exchange it for raw, real relationship.  Maybe I need to cling to Him in rolling hills and stiff cold fingers and tide-stained air.  Maybe it’s time for me to learn to come home to worship a King, to give him all that I can, to love Him as much as I know how – and to trust Him to draw me even closer. 

I love presents, and turkey, and candles, and carols, and fires, and movies, and family.

But I love His presence more.  And his gifts are eternal.  And His fire in me is life changing.  And His Word is truth.  And this Father – this Brother, this King, this Friend…is everything.