Tip of My Iceberg

It isn’t uncommon for those who have birthdays in December to feel a bit slighted by the bigger holiday swiftly approaching. Christmas can put a bit of a damper on other celebrations–much to the chagrin of those desiring to be celebrated.

That was not the case, however, for Brooklyn, who just turned nine. Even though this month has already been crammed with activities and various celebrations, her mom, Tiffany, went all out to create for her a long-dreamed of party.

She was celebrated Taylor Swift style.

I realize there are a plethora of young girls who love to be called “Swifties”, who have memorized many of their icon’s songs, and who love the glitz and glamor of how their hero dresses.

Brooklyn was treated to a sparkly dress and shades that mimicked her favorite singer. Her mom made a cake full of sparkles, bling, and edible glitter that the woman herself would have envied. The clean Taylor Swift channel played in the background as some of the girls got their hair tinseled with shiny strands of sparkle.

Brooklyn wasn’t forgotten. She was celebrated well, remembered for achieving another year of life, and ate enough sugar to last her till her next birthday.

Don’t we all want to be remembered? Don’t we all long to have others recognize our value, even if it’s just a quick “thank you” for something we’ve done? Birthdays especially are times of honest commemoration, when the reality of our presence is honored.

It doesn’t always work that way.

When the people of Israel were waiting for their promised Messiah, there was an expectation that He would be born of royalty for He was to be of the house and lineage of King David. It had been four hundred years since the last prophet, Malachi, had been in Israel. He had called the people to faithfulness and repentance to prepare them for the coming Messiah, reminding them of God’s love for them.

The people had become weary of waiting. They were under Roman rule, and King Herod, chosen by Emperor Caesar Augustus, ruled over Judea, much to the misery of his people. He was evil, treating his subjects with harsh brutality. The Jews longed to be saved by an even stronger king.

But Jesus’ birth wasn’t the huge celebration of palaces and royalty. He was born in the tiny village of Bethlehem, forced to be away from home by a census decreed by the Emperor. Mary, heavy with child, and Joseph traveled just over ninety miles from Nazareth to Bethlehem for this census.

“And while they were there, the time came for her baby to be born. She gave birth to her firstborn Son. She wrapped Him snugly in strips of cloth and laid Him in a manger, because there was lodging available for them.” Luke 2:6-7

There were no relatives to stand with the young couple. No baby gifts, no congratulations. Their birthing room was a stable, probably a cave, shared with animals that weren’t used to the sounds of a crying baby. It was not a party, but it was the most significant birth to ever happen. Without fanfare, without state visitors (the wise men came later), and without any pomp and circumstance, the Savior of the world was born.

Not what the people expected. Even now, the true meaning of Christmas is often forgotten in the melee of stuff and clutter that has become this holiday. Celebrating the birth of the Messiah is often overlooked among the presents and traditions.

Brooklyn wasn’t forgotten by anyone in our family. She was honored with style.

It may help this year to slow down the shopping and baking and remember that Christmas brought to us the most important gift we could ever imagine.

Jesus’ birth ushered in hope and a future for all who choose to believe.

What do you want to celebrate?