Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young— a place near your altar, LORD Almighty, my King and my God.
First, let me say, we had a wonderful Christmas. All our kids and grand kids were here, in and out over a dozen days.
To return home, of course, is an ideal even the sparrows crave. It signifies safety and blessing. But as it turns out, it’s not a made-for-TV movie.
In our case it was a virtual sick ward. Almost everybody came down with the flu, some of us twice. And sweet well-behaved kids can be fussy, it turns out. Parent too. Even grandparents.
For my part, I had two kinds of flu and on one of my good days got slammed by an anonymous kid on a tube sledding at Ella Sharp Park. You can see the video, sort of, here. (Tabby sure is cute walking up a hill.)
The video is not a made-for-TV movie either, since it lacks dramatic tension. As did our entire week. No sappy melodrama. And no dysfunctional family. No climax, with secrets revealed, no redemption, or even problems resolved. Just sick people home for the holidays.
We managed to stay civil and have fun. We ate good food, even though it was relatively tasteless. We laughed at bad puns and played board games late at night. We were everything a family was meant to be, with a fever.
It may have been one of our most memorable Christmases yet.
Because home is never what we imagine. Or expect.
But near the Lord’s altar, it’s better.